


hustle

by eidolonn



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Croatoan/Endverse (Supernatural), Canon-Typical Violence, Croatoan Virus (Supernatural), Developing Relationship, Episode: s05e04 The End, Human Castiel (Supernatural), Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Implied/Referenced Torture, M/M, Mutual Pining, Protective Dean Winchester, Recreational Drug Use
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-27
Updated: 2020-09-01
Packaged: 2021-03-07 02:49:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 6
Words: 27,132
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26129824
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eidolonn/pseuds/eidolonn
Summary: It’s 2014, and the world is ending.Dean Winchester is the leader of a small camp of survivors, set on the task of killing the devil. Castiel has promised not to leave his side through it all–but some promises are hard to keep.
Relationships: Castiel & Dean Winchester, Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 20
Kudos: 105





	1. PART I

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted as an au thread with image-based formatting on [twitter.](https://twitter.com/JACKSKLlNE/status/1287860334020108289) Posting it here for posterity and easier readability. Unbeta’d so any mistakes are my own. I’ll be posting each new chapter daily so I can finish proofreading. I hope you enjoy!

\---

JANUARY 23, 2014: BACK FROM MISSION #236. 

CASUALTIES: KEVIN TRAN, GUNSHOT TO THE SHOULDER FROM MILITARY FIRE.

FATALITIES: ED ZEDDMORE, MILITARY FIRE. MANDY DUREN, CROAT ATTACK. COLE TRENTON, INFECTED, EXECUTED. 

MISSOURI’S TIP PANNED OUT. CAPTURED THE DEMON SHE TOLD US TO FIND. CAS HAS HIM SECURED NOW, WILL INTERROGATE TONIGHT AT 21:00. KEVIN GOT HIT AGAIN. HE’LL BE ALRIGHT, BUT WE LOST TOO MANY TODAY. GODDAMN MILITARY, 4 YEARS AND THEY STILL DON'T KNOW WHAT THEY'RE DOING. FUCKED UP OUR LAST 3 OPERATIONS. I WISH THEY’D JUST LEAVE THE DEMONS TO US. COULD DO WITH THEIR AMMO THOUGH. CHUCK SAYS WE’RE RUNNING LOW AGAIN.

\---

DEAN: You on, Cas? How’s it coming? 

CASTIEL: Good. Everything’s set up. Are you on your way?

DEAN: Yes, be there in 5. 

CASTIEL: Copy. Over and out.

\---

[ January 23, 2014. 21:02 ]

It’s the cabin farthest away from their site, but Dean reaches it quickly. He takes long strides over the week-old snow that’s scattered on the gravel path leading away from the rest of the camp. The surrounding woods are dark, illuminated only by the lights that had been set up when they first arrived here, but even those are few and far between. It doesn’t bother Dean, though. He knows these woods like the back of his hand by now, and he’s walked this path enough times to be sick of it. As he approaches, the door swings open and light spills out, silhouetting Castiel’s familiar figure. His expression is grim, but that’s hardly unusual these days.

“Dean,” he shifts his feet restlessly, “how are you?” He seems more sober than he’s been in a while, but they’d been on the road a few days so it’s not all that unexpected.

“I’m fine, Cas.” Dean reaches the doorway and looks inside. The cabin is wooden like all the rest, but it lacks any of the furniture or personal items that the other cabins have. It’s barren, save for a liberal amount of sigils painted carefully on every available surface, a rusted metal cart, and an old wooden chair–which, currently, is occupied. “He say anything?”

“Nothing useful,” Castiel replies, not meeting Dean’s eyes. He sighs, his breath clouding up the frigid January air. He kicks at the slush on the ground.

“Good.” Dean clears his throat awkwardly. “You staying?”

“You know I can’t watch this, Dean.”

“Yeah, I just, uh,” Dean catches Cas’s eye for a split second before looking away guiltily. “Okay. I’ll come find you… after.” He hastily pats Cas on the shoulder and walks into the cabin without looking back, closing the door behind him.

\---

DEAN: Hey, you seen Cas anywhere? He’s not picking up his transceiver. 

BENNY: I think I saw him go into his cabin a couple hours ago. 

DEAN: Thanks, Benny. 

BENNY: ‘Course. You get anything useful out of this one? 

DEAN: (sighs) Same old. I’ll get you up to speed at the briefing. 05:00 tomorrow. 

BENNY: Copy that. See you then, brother. Over and out.

\---

DEAN: Hey kid, you on? 

CHARLIE: Hear you loud and clear! What’s up? 

DEAN: Briefing at 05:00 tomorrow. We’ll probably need some intel. 

CHARLIE: Roger that. Hey, Dean? 

DEAN: Yeah? 

CHARLIE: I heard about the mission today. I'm so sorry, they were supposed to be gone by the time you got there. If I’d known– 

DEAN: It’s not your fault. I should’ve covered them better, that’s on me, but either way, you know what they're like. Those tanks don’t care who you are, you move, you’re a croat. Don’t blame yourself for this, you’re doing a great job. 

CHARLIE: ...I’ll try. 

DEAN: Get some rest, okay? I’ll see you in the morning. 

CHARLIE: Okay, but hey, you need to rest too. And Dean? Please talk to Cas. 

_[ silence ]_

You can’t avoid him forever, you know.

DEAN: Yeah… I know.

\---

[ January 23, 2014. 23:56 ]

The beads clink softly as Dean pushes aside the curtain in the entryway to Cas’s cabin, but the room is otherwise quiet. Castiel is laying on the floor in the center of a Persian carpet, knees bent and hands on his stomach. His eyes are closed and his breath is slow and Dean hesitates before turning to leave.

“I’m not sleeping, you know.”

Dean looks back down at Cas. His eyes are still closed. “Well, I didn’t know.”

“You’d have known if you had bothered to ask.” Castiel opens his eyes lazily and pushes himself up so he’s sitting up, folded in half with his knees still bent. He tilts his head, looking up at Dean. “You look terrible.”

“Thanks,” Dean says blandly, pausing a moment before sitting down on a cushion by Cas’s side. He hasn’t looked in a mirror, but he knows its true. He hadn’t shaved since they left for their mission a couple of days back, he can still feel the dried flecks of blood on his face and hands where he missed them with the washcloth, and the dark circles under his eyes haven’t left in months. Cas looks at him for a long time, his expression indecipherable.

“So,” Cas finally drawls, stretching out the ‘o’ so the word hangs in the air a few moments too long. “What’s the ‘haps?”

Despite himself, Dean chuckles lightly. He looks at Cas, bemused. “The ‘haps? The ‘haps, Cas, is we caught ourselves another punk-ass demon that had a lot to say, very little of which was useful. Useful enough, though. Got a name out of him.” Dean turns away, looking up at the ceiling. “Belphegor.” Cas nods in acknowledgment, but Dean can't help but notice the slackness of his movements even in his periphery. Dean clears his throat. “There’s a briefing at 05:00 tomorrow morning. That’s why I came. You’ll be ready, right?”

Castiel laughs, but there’s an edge to it that makes it sound hollow. “ _That’s_ why you came here. Yeah, yeah, I’ll be sober enough to go to the briefing, you can relax.”

“Cas…”

“You didn’t have to ask that, you know. When have I _ever_ missed a briefing.”

“I know, I just–,” Dean sighs, looking around at the lit candles on the windowsill, at the rugs and cushions on the floor, at the moonlight spilling onto the floor. He looks anywhere but Cas. Neither of them speaks for a long time. He worries his lip and Castiel picks at his fingernails until Dean can’t take it anymore. He looks at Cas pleadingly “I just wish you’d stop.”

“Yeah, well… we rarely get what we wish for.” Cas looks him dead in the eyes and, in that moment, Dean feels completely, utterly, _seen._ He can’t bear it for more than a second. He tears his eyes away and stands, setting his jaw and striding resolutely toward the doorway. He’s nearly outside again before Castiel speaks.

“Hey, Dean?” Dean turns his head, and the expression on Cas’s face is so unabashedly sincere that it makes him ache. The shadows on his features dance in the flickering candlelight and the air feels heavy with something nameless. Castiel smiles. “Happy birthday.”

\---

[ January 24, 2014 05:09 ]

It’s still dark out, but the camp is bustling. Through the open windows, Dean can hear the casual chatter, the incessant banging and thumping of munitions being loaded into the back of the truck, Chuck calling out the names and quantities of different items to keep track of stock. He tunes it all out. “Any questions?” He looks up from the map on the large table in the center of the room and glances at the people that surround it. Benny lifts an eyebrow. 

“This a sure thing?” Dean sends him a questioning glance. “I’m not sayin’ I don’t trust your judgment, but a fifteen-hour drive just to find one demon who we only know about because _another_ demon mentioned him…”

“Look, I don’t like it any more than you do, but believe me–that demon was telling the truth. Belphegor’s our ticket.” The room falls silent for a moment before Jody speaks up.

“Missouri have anything to say about this?”

“Not yet, but we’ll keep a line open with her until we’re out of range, just in case. You got that Charlie?”

“Not a problem.”

“What about the army mooks?” Dean shoots Lee a warning glance, but he’s already looking over at Charlie. She looks thoroughly unimpressed, and, even though she still has a cast on her left arm, Dean’s surprised Lee has the gall to question her. “You got any news on them? Because–”

“The nearest army base is engaged way south of where we’re headed for the next few days at least,” Charlie replies, and it’s not often her tone is clipped, but as it is it’s more than enough to make Lee stand down. Dean clears his throat and everyone’s eyes are back on him.

“Anyone else have anything to say?” Dean’s eyes dart to the other end of the table where his best friend sits wordlessly, reclined in his chair as if he has somewhere better to be. He’s the only one who hasn’t yet spoken. “Cas?”

Cas lifts his eyes lazily to meet Dean’s. “Sounds like a plan.” Dean’s expression turns stony, and he stares at Cas a few moments longer before straightening his posture and averting his eyes. “Alright, pick two people each, I want them loaded on the truck in ten. Charlie, get Missouri set up as soon as possible, I want a mic check before we’re on the road. Cas, stay behind a minute. Everyone else–you know what to do.” The few people in the room acknowledge him with a variety of nods and grunts of assent. Jody’s out the door first as always, set on being prepared as far in advance as possible. She’s followed closely by Charlie who throws up a Vulcan salute with her good arm and parts with a smile that doesn’t quite reach her eyes. Lee walks quickly behind them and he doesn’t meet Dean’s gaze, but Dean figures he’s appropriately cowed by his confrontation with Charlie so he pays it no mind. Benny stops in front of him, his expression contrite.

“Hey chief, you know I didn’t mean anything by it. It just feels like we’re chasing our tails, sometimes, ya know?”

“No need to apologize, I get it,” Dean replies sincerely. “It’s been a long couple of years. But we’re getting closer, alright?” Benny’s obviously not convinced, but he nods and Dean places a hand on his shoulder. “You good?” 

“As good as I’ll get.” Benny’s eyes dart behind him to glance at Cas, and it’s only for a split second but Dean catches anyway. “I’ll see you out there, brother.” Dean nods at him and Benny walks out the door, closing it behind him. Cas is still sitting there, scratching absently at the splintering wood of the table in front of him. Dean looks down at him intently until Cas finally meets his eyes.

“You have something you wanna get off your chest, Cas?”

“No.” His hand stills, flattening on the table, and his voice is even and measured. “Do you?”

Dean bristles at that, his lips stretching into a thin, unpleasant line. “Is this going to be a problem? We have a very long drive ahead of us, so if you’d rather stay–”

“I’m coming.” Cas stands and brushes past Dean, but before he reaches the door Dean stops him with a hand on his forearm. He doesn’t hold on tightly, not using nearly enough force to keep Cas from leaving, but Cas stills all the same.

“Hey, are we… we’re good, right? We’ll be okay?” Dean's voice is gruff, a feeble attempt to appear unaffected, but Castiel sees right through him. He looks back at Dean, and the blue of his eyes are clouded with an awful mixture of heartache and fondness. His lips tug into a small but earnest smile.

“Of course, Dean.”

The two of them gaze at each other for a few seconds more, then Cas slips quietly out the door, leaving Dean with nothing but an empty room and a phantom buzz that lingers underneath the pads of his fingertips for ages.

\---

CHARLIE: Mic check, is anyone on? 

CASTIEL: 10-2, everything’s working on our end. Is Dean with you? 

CHARLIE: Talking with Missouri. He should be headed your way soon. 

CASTIEL: Copy that. We’re ready to go when he is. 

CHARLIE: I’ll let him know. Hey, Cas… are you doing okay? At the briefing– 

CASTIEL: (sighs) I’ll live. 

CHARLIE: He hasn’t brought it up? 

CASTIEL: Only enough to make it clear that it’s something we won’t be talking about. It’s fine though. You know how Dean is. 

CHARLIE: I know, but that doesn’t mean he should just– when you get back I’m locking you two in a room until you talk. I’ve had enough. 

CASTIEL: (chuckles quietly) If you say so. Hey, I’ve got to go now, but we’ll talk later, okay?

CHARLIE: We will. Take care of yourself, Cas. You’d both better come home safe, alright? 

CASTIEL: Don’t worry, we always do. Over and out.

\---

JANUARY 24, 2014: ON ROUTE – MISSION #237. 

DEMON WE’RE HUNTING IS SUPPOSED TO BE IN THE INNER CIRCLE. WE’LL SEE. COULD JUST BE ANOTHER DEAD END, BUT I HAVE A GOOD FEELING ABOUT THIS. WE’RE CATCHING UP TO THEM. LONG DRIVE AHEAD OF US, THOUGH, A PLACE JUST SOUTH OF FARGO. CAS IS DRIVING TODAY. I ALWAYS DRIVE. ~~I THINK HE FEELS GUILTY, BUT HE HAS EVERY RIGHT TO BE UPSET. IF I COULD JUST PROVE THAT IT HAS TO BE LIKE THIS, MAYBE WE WOULD BE OKAY. MAYBE~~

THIS ISN’T A FUCKING DIARY.

\---

[ January 24, 2014. 08:22 ]

Dean snaps his journal shut so suddenly that Cas looks over at him, but only briefly, his eyes quickly returning to the road ahead. Slipping his pen and the book back into the pocket of his jacket, Dean turns now to look out of the window next to him. He’s only half paying attention, though. The trees, dusted with snow, are nothing but a blur of green, white, and brown rushing past him, and they seem all the more unfamiliar from his reluctant place in the passenger seat. Cas had insisted on driving, told Dean to get some sleep, but the tangible tension between them would’ve made sleep impossible even if he had wanted it. They’re both irritated and on edge, and they’re isolated from the rest of their group in front of the two passenger munitions truck. Dean would do anything for a distraction at this point, but there’s no music to play. No one to talk to–at least, no one who isn’t Cas, anyway–and the thought of talking to Cas right now makes his stomach twist into knots, because neither of them can take back what they said, and both of them refuse to back down. There’s nothing else to be done.

With a put-upon sigh, Dean scrubs his hands together. It’s more for something to do to ease his restlessness than it is for warmth, although the chill in the air has the cheeks and noses rosy on the both of them. He glances quickly over at Castiel before he can stop himself, taking in the profile he knows so well–the slope of his forehead, the angle of his jaw, the sharp point of his nose, the sliver of blue beneath his lashes. Even the dark shadow of his stubble and his tousled hair have become fundamental aspects of Dean’s image of Cas after having grown accustomed to them in the last few years. 

When he realizes how long he’s been staring, Dean looks away, but as soon as he does he feels the distinct intensity of Cas’s gaze boring right through him in much the same way. Dean refuses to meet his eyes. They go back and forth like this for what seems like forever, caught up in some twisted version of a staring contest until, finally, it seems that Cas has had enough. He exhales, and it’s deafening in the silence, drawn-out as though he’s steeling himself for some great feat.

“Dean?” Cas says at last, though he doesn’t attempt to meet his eyes. Dean too looks elsewhere, keeping his gaze glued to the monotonous view outside his window. 

“Yeah? What is it, Cas?” 

“How are you doing?” Castiel asks, finally turning his head briefly to look at Dean. “I mean… really?” 

“I’m great.”

“Dean–”

“Cas.” He interrupts and he doesn’t mean for it to come out so broken and pleading, but the look he gets from Cas tells him in an instant that any attempt to pretend things are alright would be futile. Cas takes a deep breath.

“If you won’t tell me, fine, but don’t lie to me, Dean. I know you.”

“Okay, so what?” Dean snaps suddenly, “Do you want me to just break down in front of you? Have a heart to heart, braid each other's hair, and have a movie night? Is that what you want?”

“I don’t know about the last two things, but, honestly? Yes, that is what I want.”

“Now is not the time, Cas. if you haven’t noticed, we’re in the middle of a war.”

“We’re in a car on an empty highway. We won't be anywhere remotely near another hot zone for hours. There's not an enemy in sight, so tell me, Dean what battle are you really fighting?”

“I’m tired, Cas, okay? You wanted to know how I am? I’m fucking tired, because we’ve been fighting a losing war for years with no end in sight. I'm tired of chasing demon after demon with next to nothing to show for it. I'm tired of losing people. Ash. Donna. Bobby.”

“I know that, Dean. And with Sam–”

“Don't say his name. Just don’t.” Cas’s expression turns cold, and he doesn’t respond, choosing instead to stare steadily at the road ahead. Dean pinches the bridge of his nose and wonders, not for the first time, why he can’t seem to open his mouth without hurting Cas’s feelings. 

“Look” Dean starts carefully, “thank you for trying with me. God knows I don’t deserve your patience, your loyalty, that, despite everything, I know I can still count on you. And yeah, Cas, of course, I’m not fine. I’m not fine and I haven’t been for years–if ever–but so fucking what? I’m not gonna sit here and cry about it, because you know what that gets us? That gets us jack. It’s absolutely pointless, so we’re right back where we started.”

Castiel is quiet for a long time. He stares at nothing but trees and dirty snow and the long line of the asphalt leading endlessly onward. His knuckles are white on the steering wheel, and his breath curls out from between his lips like smoke. When he finally speaks, his voice is so quiet that Dean almost doesn’t hear it. He half wishes he hadn’t. 

“It doesn’t have to be that way, Dean.”

Dean swallows, and he stares at his hands, his knees, at anything else but Cas. “No, don't do this again.”

“Dean,” Cas looks at him so intensely that Dean has no choice but to meet his eyes. “When I told you–”

“Cas, please.” 

“When I told you I loved you,” Cas insists, his tone leaving no room for argument, “I wasn't lying to you, Dean. It wasn’t out of pity or guilt or whatever other excuses you’re using to try to convince yourself that it's not the truth.” 

“Cas, I–”

“You are loved, Dean, and you are deserving. And I am so, so sorry that you’re unable to see that.”

Dean feels like crawling tightly into a ball and never unfurling. He hastily opens his mouth to say something then closes it just as fast. So badly he wants to take Cas’s words and hold onto them for dear life, to carve them into his bones so he can keep them close until there’s nothing of him but dust. 

But he doesn’t do that, because Dean Winchester doesn’t get to keep the things he loves.

Dean forces his expression to quickly turn icy. Detached. It's a mask he puts on for everyone else, but not for Cas if he can help it. Not unless, in times like this, he has no choice. 

“So what, Cas?” He asks dispassionately. “What now? You think we can win this war with what–the power of love? Grow up. This isn’t a movie, and we don't get to have a happy ending.” 

“Maybe not, but I just thought–,” Castiel exhales shakily, “I thought, that maybe you wouldn’t have to be so alone in all of this.” He pauses, and Dean pretends he doesn’t notice the sentiment slip from his features, his expression stiffening until he appears as reserved as the day they had met. “I suppose you've made your choice, though.” 

Dean doesn’t respond, his gaze fixed on the blur outside his window yet again. If his eyes start to water, he’ll blame it on the brisk winter wind that whips past the open window. If his fist is closed so tight it turns white, he’ll blame it on the freezing cold, or on poor circulation. Nevermind that the window is closed, or that the crescent moon imprints of his own fingernails remain on the skin of his palms for hours. 

Dean and Castiel drive the rest of the way in silence, steeping in their sorrow like they always do.

\---

DEAN: Move move move, come on guys– 

JODY: Heads up, more croats 6 o’clock.

BENNY: –no get down. You see him anywhere?

LEE: Clear. 

DEAN: Try the other rooms then. Is that all the demons?

CAS: I think–wait, no–

shit, more just came out of nowhere

BENNY: But the one we’re looking for–

DEAN: Maybe the other buildings? Fuck they must’ve known we were coming.

CAS: How did they–? 

DEAN: Nevermind, just–

BENNY: Garth? Shit. I’ve got a couple down we need to– 

DEAN: We’re not leaving without getting what we came for. Get them to the trucks if you can. Fuck, where is he? 

LEE: Wait I see– 

we got a runner! 

CAS: On it. 

DEAN: No wait, fucking wait, where–

JODY: I’ve got movement over here!

BENNY: Right behind you, Jody.

JODY: Wait, is that–?

DEAN: Anyone got eyes on this guy? I can’t hold the line forever.

BENNY: Dean? Dean, we got him. We got him. 

DEAN: You got him? Fuck, okay back to the truck now, go! All teams check in. 

JODY: all good here, on our way. 

BENNY: Garth's down but he’ll live. Almost back. 

LEE: Everyone’s accounted for here too.

DEAN: Okay, we’re on the road in 60 seconds. Wait, where’s– ...Cas? 

Cas, check in. Castiel, check in right now. What is your position, I repeat, what is your position?

_[ silence ]_

...Cas? 

JODY: Dean, croats 12 o’clock. 

BENNY: Fuck. There's so many, why are there so many– 

LEE: –low on ammo. We can't take them all, we have to get out of here now. 

DEAN: Fuck. What the fuck, Cas. Where the hell are you man? Don't make me–

Don't make us leave y– 

LEE: Dean, they're almost on us. Please, we don't have time for this. 

_[ silence ]_

Dean!

DEAN: Fuck, okay move out, move out. I need three gunners in the back right fucking now– okay. Okay. We’re losing them. 

_[ silence ]_

Cas? Cas? I don't know if you can hear me... but we’re coming back. I'm coming back. You gotta stay safe, you gotta keep moving. You cant let them– Cas, I can't lose y– 

_[ out of range ]_

\---


	2. PART II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm separating this into more chapters for pacing BUT I'm uploading two chapters today to make up for it sorry omg.

\---

JANUARY 25, 2014: BACK FROM MISSION #237. 

CASUALTIES: GARTH FITZGERALD, BROKEN LEG. LAYLA ROURKE, DISLOCATED SHOULDER. ALICIA BANES, CONCUSSION.

FATALITIES: ~~CA~~

MIA: CASTIEL. 

MISSION SUCCESSFUL. CAPTURED THE DEMON BELPHEGOR. WILL INTERROGATE. NO FATALITIES, BUT CAS, HE’S– ~~I DON’T KNOW WHAT HAPPENED, I DON'T.~~ WE HAD TO LEAVE WITHOUT HIM, THERE WERE CROATS ON OUR TAIL, WAY TOO MANY, AND WE HAD INJURED PPL THAT NEEDED MEDICAL ATTENTION ASAP BUT... GOD, I DON'T GET IT. HE WAS RIGHT BEHIND ME WHEN SOMEONE CALLED IN A SIGHTING AND THEN HE WAS JUST GONE. HE WOULDN'T ANSWER HIS RADIO, ~~SHIT, WHY DIDN'T HE ANSWER~~

HE'S NOT DEAD. NO BODY. I'M GOING BACK TO FIND HIM, EVEN IF I HAVE TO GO ALONE. 

~~HE'S NOT DEAD. HE CAN'T BE.~~

\---

[ January 25, 2014. 19:54 ]

The metal gates swing open slowly, their rusted hinges protesting at the effort. Trapped in the passenger seat once again, Dean sits still and silent as the truck pulls into the driveway. He’d tried to drive at first, but, high-strung and shaky, he and the highway made a dangerous pair, and it was all he could do to avoid leaving twisted tire tracks in his wake. Benny took over before they hit Minnesota.

It’s early enough in the evening that Camp Chitaqua is still humming with activity, and as always a small crowd of people have paused their busywork to oversee the group’s return, to to help unload the trucks and provide medical assistance when needed. Charlie stands among them, the bright white of her cast shining like a beacon and making Dean feel sick to his stomach. Sicker than he already was, at least, because the feeling had never really stopped. She hasn’t seen him yet though, caught up in watching Alicia, Garth, and Layla as they’re escorted to the medical cabin. Reluctantly, Dean gets out of the truck and, finally, she does see him. Charlie starts to run toward him, but the look on his face must be something unspeakably ugly and tragic because she stops dead in her tracks. Dean offers Benny a few parting instructions before walking slowly to meet her, eyes fixed on the ground beneath his feet, begging his mind to focus on way the dirt and leaves mix with the old snow unappealingly. He reaches Charlie all too quickly.

Charlie doesn’t ask where Cas is, not yet, and for that Dean is grateful. She pulls him into a hug and neither of them say anything for a long while. Dean shuts his eyes tight, because, right now, he couldn’t look anybody in the eyes if he tried.

\---

[ January 25, 2014. 17:22 ]

The last dregs of sunlight filter through the window of the broken-down building Castiel finds himself in when he wakes. His eyelids feel uncomfortably heavy when he tries to open them, and his head is pounding unforgivingly. There's an uncomfortable sticky feeling running down from his temple to under his chin, and when he picks at it his fingers come back stained red. 

“Fuck,” Cas curses under his breath, and his voice is hoarse. He wonders for a moment why his throat is so raw before he registers the biting cold, how frozen solid he feels. Despite himself, he breathes out a rueful huff of laughter. He used to be able to not even feel the cold and now look at him. Being human is still so uncomfortable, he has no idea how Dean manages to–

Oh. 

Dean. 

Little by little, his memories of the day’s events return to him. The briefing, the long drive, the stillness in the air as they approached the town. And then the chaos. The demons had been expecting them, coming at them from all sides, but the one demon they were looking for was nowhere to be found. Someone had caught sight of a demon, possibly _the_ demon, and he had given chase without a second thought. After that, though, there’s just… nothing. 

“Damn it.” Castiel grits his teeth, trying to will away the pounding his head, and, hastily, he fishes the transceiver from his pocket and turns it on. 

\---

CASTIEL: Hello? This is Castiel, does anyone copy? 

_[ silence ]_

Is anyone there?

...Dean? 

_[ silence ]_

\---

A dense fog of unease settles over Castiel, and the bone-deep chill he feels isn’t caused only by the temperature. He stands shakily, pressing his bare palms to the grimy cement wall beside him to brace himself. His stomach lurches and his mind races far too fast for him to make sense of all that’s happened, but, regardless, Castiel sets his jaw and steadies himself. His eye catches on his rifle, now lying abandoned on the floor across the room where it must’ve been cast away in the struggle. Castiel retrieves it and checks the chamber. There’s not much ammunition left, but enough–hopefully. He makes it to the front door of the building and pushes it open, and, as grey-purple twilight spills over his figure he inhales sharply and stares wide-eyed at the scene in front of him. 

The street is empty, dead silent, and the pit in his stomach grows, ugly and twisted until Castiel can no longer bear it. He closes his eyes just so that he can let himself pretend, if only for one moment, that things will be okay. It’s all for nothing, though. He knows, with every bone in his body, that this is all wrong. He knows he shouldn’t be alive. 

\---

CASTIEL: Dean? Anyone? 

_[ silence ]_

Okay… I doubt anyone will hear this, but I’ll try again just in case. I’m heading out of town. The trucks are gone, and there are no bodies–well, there are plenty of demons and croats, but none of ours–so I assume you all went home. I’m en-route to you now, although I have yet to find a functioning car. I’ll keep looking, but in the event that I have to carry out the rest of my journey on foot, I estimate I’ll arrive in approximately… two weeks. If you can hear this, I could, uh, use a lift.

_[ silence ]_

Yeah, that was a long shot. I’ll try again later, but I should conserve battery. Alright. Over and out.

\---

DEAN: Is he secured? 

BENNY: Yeah chief, he ain’t going nowhere. 

DEAN: Thanks, Benny. 

BENNY: Sure. Hey, Dean… I'm sorry about– 

DEAN: Nothin’ to be sorry about. I’ll be there in 5. Over and out.

\---

[ January 25, 2014. 19:34 ]

“Dean Winchester,” The demon calls out, his voice shattering the silence of the night. “It’s nice to finally meet you.”

Dean closes the door behind him without responding. His gaze sweeps over the prisoner, but it doesn’t linger. He turns instead to the lone cart in the middle of the otherwise barren room, acting on autopilot as he checks that every instrument he may need is in place. Nothing’s missing, though. Everything’s perfectly prepared as always, even without Cas’s help.

“What, so you’re giving me the silent treatment? What've I ever done to you?”

Dean stays silent, schooling his expression into one of cold disinterest.

“You’re no fun.”

“No,” Dean replies finally, picking up the demon knife from where it lays on the surface of the cart. “No, I’m not. Not for you, at least.” He turns back towards the demon, stepping into the intricate Enochian devil’s trap painted carefully on the floor. He tries not to remember the day it was painted, Cas demonstrating the symbols first, drawing them on scrap paper with a near-dry ballpoint pen. The wood beneath their fingertips, paintbrushes in hand. The warmth of Cas’s fingers wiping off a spot of paint that had found its way onto Dean’s cheek. Dean presses the blade to the demon’s neck and looks him in the eyes, and he tries once more not to think about how the blue of them looks stale and dull compared to Cas’s. He tries, and he tries, but it’s a futile effort, so, instead, he continues pretending. 

“Belphegor, right?”

The demon grins in response, apparently unconcerned that he has a knife under his chin. The ease of his smile sets Dean further on edge. 

“Bingo. What can I do for ya?” 

Dean cocks an eyebrow and regards him with suspicion. When he doesn’t answer right away, Belphegor takes it upon himself to fill the silence. Leaning forward slightly, ignoring the press of metal at his throat, he gives Dean a pointed look.

“You’re looking for the colt, right?”

“Am I?” Dean withdraws, and his grip on the knife doesn’t loosen, but his hand falls to his side. “And you know that how, exactly?”

“People talk,” Belphegor replies casually. “Well–not people, but you know what I mean. Besides, it’s not difficult to put the pieces together. The colt can kill anything. You want the devil dead. You’ve been capturing demons. You think the demons have the colt. One plus one, ya know.”

Dean turns away, putting distance between the two of them in an effort to hide how unsettled he is by Belphegor’s apparent candor. He scoffs and prays it comes off as irritated rather than uneasy. “Wow, you really like the sound of your own voice.”

“I thought that my talking was the whole point of all this. So, I’m talking.”

Dean scoffs, his back still turned, busying his hands with the tools on the cart. The nagging voice in the back of his mind tells him that there is something very, very off about this whole situation, but he can't quite put his finger on it. “Talking and telling the truth are two different things.”

“Not always.” 

Dean turns and fixes him with a glare. Belphegor shrugs–or attempts as close of an approximation of a shrug as he can, given his restraints. 

“Hey, why would I lie?”

“Well, number one: you’re a demon. Number two: you’re a demon. Number three–”

“Yeah, Yeah. Demon. I get it, trust issues and all, but–”

“Let me guess, you’re not like the rest of them? Well, I hate to break it to you, but,” Dean pauses, inspects the knife still in his hand, then looks back at Belphegor with an intentionally phony smile, “I really don’t care. Because, to me, _you_ are just another irritating black-eyed bastard I have to deal with, and if you don’t start talking about things that are actually useful to me, I’ll crush you underneath my heel without a second thought.” 

Dean steps back into the devil’s trap, and he presses the point of the blade into Belphegor’s chest until it breaks the skin and the fabric beneath the knife blooms a violent red. The first drop of blood always used to turn Dean’s stomach, used to make everything in him scream that he should stop, put down the blade, and just walk away. It made him desperately want to leave all this behind so that maybe, just maybe, he could forget Hell and Alistair, forget that doing this is exactly what made the world go to shit–but not today. Today the blood grants him the illusion of control, and Dean holds on to that feeling tightly. This time, he lets himself play the part because, _finally_ , he feels a little less like he wants to crawl out of his own skin. He shoves aside the anxious thoughts running endlessly through his mind, the silent prayers to someone who can longer hear them. He’ll slice and bruise and batter until his mind, at last, goes quiet.

\---

CASTIEL: Come in. Anyone? 

_[ silence ]_

This is Castiel. I’m trying again. Can anyone hear me? I’m traveling east still. 

My coordinates are approximately–” 

_[ static ]_

_\---_

[ January 26, 2014. 05:28 ]

“Damn it.” Castiel turns off his radio irritably and puts it back into the pocket of his coat. The pounding in his head has yet to go away and the incessant crackle of static on his rapidly dying transceiver certainly isn’t helping. He scrubs his hands over his face before wrapping his arms around himself in a futile attempt to maintain a modicum of body heat. Cas has been walking for hours now, backtracking in the direction of the camp, but as soon as he’d reached the highway he had cut into the woods by the roadside. No demons or croats had crossed his path yet, but there's no such thing as being too careful at a time like this. If that means he takes the longer route, that he keeps moving, that he can't even start a fire, then so be it. He just needs to get back home. Back to the camp. Back to Dean.

He stumbles over an exposed tree root, and he tries to catch himself, but it’s still terribly dark, and there’s nothing to hold onto, and so, Castiel falls, inelegantly, to the ground with an aborted cry. His vision swims, and bile rises in his throat. The woods feel like they’re pressing in around him, ready to swallow him whole. Every rustle of leaves is deafening, the moonlight is bright as a spotlight, and god, he can’t do anything but lay on the cold wet dirt of the forest floor because he _knows_ he was far too loud and if he moves someone might find him. He’ll be caught and he won’t be able to do anything about it because he can still barely see, can hear more than the clamor of his own heartbeat in his eardrums. Not for the first time, it occurs to him that he might die out here, that he may never make it back to Dean at all.

Seconds pass, then minutes. Nothing. The woods seem to settle, quiet once more, no longer mocking him in his vulnerable state. Castiel inhales deeply, his vision no longer painfully spotty, and stands shakily, leaning heavily on the large tree beside him. Wiping off his muddy hands onto his now equally muddy pants is probably pointless, but he does it anyway just to keep himself busy for a few seconds longer. 

His eyes narrow when he spots the offending tree root, but he moves toward it anyway, taking a seat on its surface because it’s still better than sitting back down in the dirt. In the cold dark silence, Castiel is nearly still, save only for the steady rise and fall of his chest and the clouds of his breath as he exhales into the winter air. He forces himself to contemplate what would happen if he never made it back home. If he dies out here and one day Dean just... finds him. Or, if Dean just _doesn’t_ find him, leaving him out here, a victim to the elements, his body nothing but a meal for the hungry wild things in the wood. 

Cas exhales unsteadily and pulls out a pen and a small journal from a pocket inside of his jacket. A soft rueful smile tugs at his lips when he remembers that Dean was the reason he started using a journal in the first place. He opens the book to its first empty page and stares at it for a long while. It isn’t until his fingers feel like they’re near frozen solid and the sky’s already begun to lighten that Castiel finally starts to write.

\---

_Hello Dean,_

_I don’t know if you’ll ever see this. I hope that you don’t have to, that I’ll make it back home without issue. That nothing else goes wrong. I want so badly for that to be the case... but neither of us are ever that lucky._

_I’m quite a ways outside the town now. I think I have a concussion, and I’m not sure of the severity, but I am coherent enough to understand we may not meet again in this lifetime. I know too that even if I do make it back to camp unscathed, I don’t know what state you’ll be in. I’m not able to control what might happen to me, to us, but the least I can do is try to give you some kind of explanation so that_ ~~_when_~~ _if things do go wrong you won’t be left in the dark. I owe you that and more, don’t I?_

_So, Dean… I’m so sorry. This is all my fault. I promised when all this started that I wouldn’t leave you. I told you that you wouldn’t have to do this alone, but I’ve let you down again, haven’t I? It seems sometimes like that’s all I’m good for. Being a disappointment. I don’t know why I was naive enough to think I had control over this, to get upset with you for feeling hopeless, but you have a way of making me believe in the impossible, Dean. You always have–and that’s not a fault. You just have that effect on people, and it changes them, as it did me, for the better._

_That’s why part of me hopes you aren’t going to look for me, because the survivors, the camp, they need you too. You’re important, Dean, more important than me, and if something were to happen to you because of me..._

_I know you, though. You wouldn’t leave anyone behind without coming back for them. I just pray that I’m not your undoing._

_Yours,_

_Castiel_

\---

[ January 25, 2014. 22:03 ]

The blade doesn’t cut deep enough to kill, but deep enough instead that death would be a preferable outcome–and Dean’s been carving for hours. 

“That’s it, that’s the truth, I swear!” 

Dean steps away, leaving Belphegor with his chest heaving and covered in his own blood, a sieve of open wounds. The demon spits the blood in his mouth onto the floor. “Like I said in the first place, I don’t have the colt anymore, I just know that they were supposed to be moving west. They know you’re closing in. I had the colt for a hot second but it doesn’t stay in the same hands very long which is… kinda the point of all this. Of course, I gave you that exact answer over an hour ago.”

“Call it fact-checking,” Dean replies coldly. He wipes his bloodstained hands nonchalantly on a discolored cloth nearby and looks Belphegor in the eye. “Well, gee, I think I believe you. Thanks so much for your help. Now, I guess I'm feeling generous today, so I’ll make this quick.”

“Wait, wait, hold on a second,'' Belphegor responds hurriedly, and Dean suppresses the urge to act smug. The demon raises his eyebrows defiantly. “Maybe I’m feeling generous too.”

“Are you, now?” Dean approaches the devil’s trap again and Belphegor flinches. Dean smirks and ignores the ugly feeling that crawls up his throat. Having even an ounce of pride in this is sickening, but he can’t shut it off. Not anymore. “So there’s more you haven’t said?”

“Not about the colt, necessarily. But yeah, of course, there’s more. There’s always more. That’s why you gotta let me stick around.”

Dean laughs loudly at that, but it’s painfully insincere. “Seems like you have a knack for overestimating your importance.” The knife is still in his hands, and he lashes out quickly, carving a thin stripe onto the side of the demon's face. Belphegor cries out and his eyes flash, pure black and chillingly empty, but this cut isn’t as deep as the others. It’s merely a warning. Belphegor sneers all the same, his tone dripping with contempt in a way it never had before.

“I’d suggest you reconsider.” He leans toward Dean, mockingly conspiratorial. His voice is low. “Don't you wanna know why your little kidnapping mission went sideways so quickly? How we knew you were coming? What happened to your broken little angel?” Dean’s eyes widen in horror before he can help it. He schools his expression quickly, but he’s not fast enough. The mask has slipped. Belphegor has him hooked in, and he knows it.

\---

JANUARY 26, 2014: POST-INTERROGATION, MISSION #237. 

LEE’S MISSING. HE’D BETTER HOPE I DON’T FIND HIM. IF I DO, HE’S A DEAD MAN.

\---


	3. PART III

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> supposed to post this hours ago but the finale promo vid came out OOPS

_\---_

_Hello, Dean_

_It started snowing today. I’m a ways into Minnesota now, judging by the signs on the roadside. Still headed your way, still without a car. My transceiver is running low on battery already, so I’ve only been using it once a day in short stints. I hope it’ll be enough._

_Do you remember the night we drove up to Bobby’s from Fort Collins? Before all of this started? It was snowing then too, and you were singing “What Is And What Should Never Be” at the top of your lungs when we saw the deer. The highway was empty, you could’ve easily gone around it, but you stopped and turned off your headlights far enough away that the deer wasn’t frightened. We went outside and sat on the hood of the car and watched the deer until it was out of sight._

_By the time we got back inside, your hair was all wet and spiky and dusted with snow, and your nose and cheeks and the tips of your ears were flushed a bright pink, and for whatever reason you couldn’t stop smiling. You were a vision then, in the moonlight, and I wanted to kiss the cold away right there, but you looked like you liked the bite of it, how alive it made you feel. Then the keys were in the ignition and I pretended that I never wanted anything more._

_You don’t smile that way anymore, and I still wonder what would’ve happened if I had kissed you in that moment. If things would’ve been different. I know I’ll never get to kiss you how I want to, but if I can see you smile like that one more time I think that would be enough._

_I know this was… a lot, but if all goes well you’ll never see this anyways. If things end badly, though, and you’re reading this too late, please just do one last thing for me._

_Please just smile._

_You’ll be alright without me, Dean. You will._

_Yours,_

_Castiel_

\---

[ January 26, 2014. 12:37 ]

Castiel tucks the journal carefully back into his coat, straightening his posture from the hunched position he’d assumed in an attempt to protect the pages from the sparsely falling snow. His cheeks color even more than they already had in the brisk winter air. A part of him, the vain part, that was once able read minds, heal with a touch, be across the galaxy and back within an instant, feels stupid for pouring his heart out in a silly little journal while he’s stranded alone in the midst of the end of the world. He ignores that part of himself though, because he knows thinking like that won’t leave him anything but a bitter taste in his mouth and a further lack of focus. 

Besides, Castiel thinks to himself as he pads quietly but purposefully through the dense foliage, it has been something of a comfort. Telling a hypothetical Dean all the things the real Dean would never want to hear out loud. It’s cathartic, and perhaps it’ll make things easier between them once–if–he makes it back home. And if he doesn’t make it home, then at least, hopefully, Dean will know. There’s solace in that, in knowing that even if the worse comes to pass, he’s at least tried his hardest to be there for Dean one last time. Castiel can rest easy with that knowledge, if it comes to that.

After about an hour, the woods begin to thin, and Castiel weaves his way closer to the roadside. Judging by the silhouetted buildings on the horizon, he must be approaching a town. Hopefully, a town with at least one functioning car. He walks along near the asphalt, continuing on the way it points him. He keeps out of the open by travelling just behind the treeline and watches carefully for any movement. There’s nothing for a long while, but as he draws closer to town he hears someone, or something making a commotion, and his heart skips a beat. He ducks down behind the splintered stump of a large tree just a few paces behind him, and he waits. 

He doesn’t have to wait long.

\---

CASTIEL: I have to make this qui– 

–batteries are dying. Can anyone hear th–

Hello? Please, there’s something headed my way, my coordina–

_[ static ]_

Shit, they're getting closer, I have t–

_[ static ]_

\---

Cas turns off the transceiver in a hurry, praying to a god he knows isn't listening that whoever’s coming didn't hear his transmission. 

He doesn't move. He doesn't breathe.

As soon as Castiel sees them, he knows. It's the tattered shoes, the bloodstained, unkempt clothes, the wicked glint in their eyes, wild, and drunk on a bloodlust that’s stripped every last ounce of humanity from their pathetic sallow bodies.

Croatoans.

Castiel knows he’s done for. Croats have an uncanny talent for finding the uninfected, sniffing them out like rabid dogs and horribly mangling the ones who put up too much of a struggle and turning all the rest. The pounding in his head, only just having started to subside, picks back up mercilessly, and his stomach turns until the only thing keeping Castiel from being sick right this moment is the paralyzing fear of making any noise at all.

There are 5 of them, and they walk past Castiel so slowly that it's painful. They seem more coherent than most, watchful, calculating, and this kind of croat is far worse than the rabid kind, Castiel thinks, dread settling heavy in his gut. The pure spiteful vigor they seem to get from the havoc they wreak makes them that much harder to fight or escape from, fervently pursuing a destructive mission that they no longer have the capacity to understand. Castiel concentrates on the weight of the rifle still strapped to his back, readying himself. 4 rounds left–maybe 5. God, it had better be five.

He exhales nervously, just for a second, and one of the croats, trailing behind the others, stops in his tracks. He turns in Castiel’s direction, and Castiel stiffens helplessly, mouth drawn into a tight line so as not to repeat the same mistake again. For a frozen moment, the croat doesn’t move either. Then, from the gap in the tree trunk that he’s been peering through, Castiel could swear he sees the croat smile, though he’s too far away to be sure. 

After another minute, the croat finally walks away, joining his peers, and once they’re at a safe enough distance Castiel lets himself exhale again. It’s shaky, and hangs foggy in the chill air. Cas closes his eyes, sinking to the ground, but he’s not even relieved. In his terror, his blood feels ice cold in his veins.

\---

BENNY: You find him?

DEAN: No, he’s just gone. Damn it, where the hell did he go?

BENNY: I don’t know, brother, he’s just–hold on.

_[ muffled voices ]_

Dean. He was last seen an hour back by the trucks. Tire tracks show him heading west, and in the snow he should be easy enough to–

DEAN: Roger that. Let Chuck and Jody know. I’m on my way to Missouri right now just in case. We’ll split up, individual cars, mics on at all times. We’re on the road in five. Clear?

BENNY: ...Yeah, you got it. Over and out.

\---

[ January 26, 2014. 03:22 ]

Dean’s grip on the steering wheel is unforgiving, his knuckles a ghastly sight of white-yellow fury and peppered with spots of dark red dried blood, and it’s ugly against the black of the dashboard. Charlie sits beside him, peering out the passenger window, resting her uninjured arm on the door and using it to prop her chin up. She's tired, of course, they all are, but turned away from Dean as she is, he can barely make out the dark circles under her eyes. That’s fine, though. It lets him feel less guilty.

They’ve been driving for hours now, and the quiet crackle of white noise coming from the transceivers between them is almost a comfort at this point. Charlie sighs, and Dean risks a quick glance over at her before turning back to the road to continue the search. The road is as empty as it always is, though. He wasn’t missing much. 

“You okay, kid?” He asks shortly, giving her an out if she doesn’t want to talk, but allowing the underlying sincerity in his tone to speak volumes. Charlie doesn’t turn around, but her lips quirk up a little in an exhausted half-smile.

“I’m…” she takes a moment, choosing her words with care. “I’m alright, all things considered.” Charlie glances back at Dean fleetingly. “I’m gonna kick Lee’s ‘Cypher’ wannabe ass so hard he’ll wish he was never born, though.” She takes a deep, steadying breath. “How are you?”

“I’m… ya know.” Dean shrugs half-heartedly, but the grimace on his face and his death grip on the steering wheel betray him. He chews at his lip for a moment, brow pinched together, and when he finally speaks again, his voice comes out unusually small. “Why do things always go wrong, Charlie? And I don’t mean–I don’t know. Maybe I’m being a baby, but it seems like me causing the literal end of the world was bad enough. Why do I always have to make things worse?”

“You?” Charlie turns to him, eyebrows raised incredulously, but Dean doesn’t look back at her, continuing to sweep his gaze over the empty highway instead. “How is this on you?”

“It just is.” Dean’s grip on the wheel tightens impossibly further. “The safety of my friends, of the camp, that’s on me. But still, I keep trusting the wrong people, not paying enough attention. I should’ve seen right through Lee, Charlie. I’ve known him forever. But I didn’t. I didn’t want to. And Cas… god, Charlie I–,” Dean’s resolve crumbles and his voice breaks wretchedly. “He’s probably dead already. He’s dead and the last thing we did was argue. I didn’t even get to tell him–”

Dean’s transceiver crackles to life, thankfully interrupting him. Charlie looks over at Dean sadly, but Dean’s already clearing his throat and blinking away the beginnings of tears that had welled up in his eyes.

\---

BENNY: Dean–

DEAN: You got him?

BENNY: We’re closing. His truck’s parked up by the lake. Pursuing on foot.

DEAN: Copy. Give me your coordinates, we’ll be right there.

\---

[ January 26, 2014. 03:54 ]

As soon as Dean and Charlie step out of the car, they hear shouting. Dean curses under his breath and they sprint towards the commotion. Charlie snags her cast on a branch not far into the woods, but she calls out for Dean to keep going without her, and so he does. He runs as fast as he can, trampling branches and clumps of dirty snow and god knows what else under the soles of his shoes. He skids on a few small patches of yet unmelted ice, and feels the scrape of branches on his face as he moves, near blinded by the dark, but he pushes forward nonetheless, not stopping for a second. He has no idea what could possibly be going on, but he knows it can’t be good.

Dean approaches the rocky shore of the lake, running full tilt ahead, but when he sees what’s going on he skids to a halt.

“What the fuck.”

For a brief moment, Dean stands still, because Lee is standing in a broken-down looking boat in the middle of the lake and he’s holding a gun in his hand, pointing it at Benny and the others who are yelling at him from the lakeside and fuck. Please let that be just a gun. Please let it be just any other gun.

“He’s got it,” Benny yells at him when he finally notices Dean’s presence. “Dean, he’s got the colt.”

Dean feels bile rise in his throat and he knows that nothing good can come of this but Lee is suddenly looking straight at him, frantic like a cornered animal and his finger’s on the trigger, and he’s firing, so Dean does the only thing he can think to do.

He fires.

The bullet hits Lee in his right shoulder because, even strung tight and panicky, Dean is a damn good shot–but none of that matters.

Dean watches as Lee’s grip on the colt goes lax and the slips from his fingers.

In an instant, their only shot at killing the devil sinks below the inky surface of the water.

\---

CHUCK: Uh, Dean? Hey. He’s ready for you.

DEAN: Copy that. I'll be back to deal with him by 05:00. Keep him locked down until then.

CHUCK: You got it. Hey, boss, I know this sucks. I’m really so–

DEAN: Really not the time, Chuck. I’ll check in again soon. Over and out.

\---

JANUARY 26, 2014: PERSONNEL RETRIEVAL MISSION 

CASUALTIES: LEE WEBB, GUNSHOT TO THE SHOULDER 

CAUGHT LEE BY THE LAKE EARLY THIS MORNING. HE HAD THE COLT, HE STARTED FIRING. I SHOT HIM, BUT HE DROPPED THE COLT INTO THE LAKE. I HAVE SOME PEOPLE ON IT, BUT WE DONT HAVE THE RESOURCES TO DRAG A FUCKING LAKE. EVEN DIVING FOR IT… I’M NOT HOLDING OUT MUCH HOPE. IT’S FREEZING COLD AND THE WATER’S DEEP. BEST CASE IT’LL WASH UP SOMEDAY SOON, BUT EVEN THEN IT’LL BE WATERLOGGED. I DON’T KNOW WHAT OTHER OPTIONS WE HAVE, THOUGH. FUCKING HELL. YEARS OF WORK DOWN THE DRAIN. PEOPLE LOST THEIR LIVES FOR THIS. GOOD PEOPLE. ~~AND IF CAS…~~

GOING TO QUESTION LEE NOW. HOPEFULLY GET SOMETHING USEFUL OUT OF HIM. AND THEN… I’M GONNA KILL HIM. I DON’T CARE ANYMORE.

\---

[ January 26, 2014. 05:07 ]

“Don’t you get it, man? This is the way the world works. You gotta watch your own back.”

Dean laughs humorlessly, but he still can’t bring himself to look Lee in the eye. “Oh, you are so full of shit, Lee. What the hell happened to you?” 

“How ‘bout the end of the world. That ring any bells for you?”

“Bull.” Dean finally faces him. Lee’s arms are bound behind his back, and he’s seated in the middle of a devil’s trap like the enemy and Dean wonders for the thousandth time in less than 24 hours how it’s come to this. “How long have you been working for them? How’d they get you on their side in the first place?” Lee stays silent, looking up at Dean with a nauseating combination of pity and obstinance, and the anger Dean’s been tamping down up to this point boils over. It leaves an acrid taste in his mouth as he strides into Lee’s space and presses down hard onto the gauze covering his bullet wound.

“Listen, you piece of shit. We might have a history, but right now, you mean absolutely nothing to me. I’ve been holding back up until this point, but you know exactly what I’m capable of. So talk–or I’ll make you.” Dean eases back, releasing his grip on Lee’s shoulder. Lee closes his eyes, exhaling shakily and cursing under his breath. For a long moment, the room is quiet.

“We were on… 216, I think. Mission 216,” Lee mutters, breaking his silence. “I was cornered by some demon, got offered a deal. My life for information. On you.” He doesn’t meet Dean’s eyes as he speaks, but he barely sounds apologetic. Dean’s hand, still marred with the blood from Lee’s fresh wound, tightens into a fist until his knuckles are bone white. Lee continues. “It was supposed to be a one-time thing, but, man, it was too good to pass up. You notice how few fights I’ve been in lately?” He shifts his injured shoulder uncomfortably. “I mean, this is the first injury I’ve had in ages. Thanks for that, by the way.” 

Dean glares at him unsympathetically. “So, what? You give them a few tips and suddenly you’re in the inner circle? Why’d they give you the colt anyways? That seems stupid, even for demons.”

Lee chuckles and meets Dean’s eyes, and there's a humor in them that Dean finds sickening. “Wasn’t supposed to happen that way. That last mission, the ambush was less effective than it should’ve been. I guess they underestimated you. Belphegor was supposed to hand off the colt to some other demon, but…” Lee breaks eye contact once more, and this time he almost does look guilty. Dean’s stomach turns. “Let’s just say that certain events transpired that made ‘Plan A’ impossible. So I took over.” 

The look on Lee’s face makes Dean feel more uneasy than he’s felt since this whole situation started. He swears he can hear the rush of his own blood through his veins, and the hair at the nape of his neck stands at attention. He closes in on his former friend, numbly pulling a blade from where it’s sheathed at his waist, and pressing it below Lee’s chin.

“What exactly do you mean by ‘certain events’,” he asks, the timbre of his voice low and threatening. He asks, but without a doubt, he already knows the answer.

\---

_Hello Dean,_

_I think I almost died today. I was walking towards a town in search of supplies, and ideally a car, when a handful of croats walked by. Luckily I was able to hide behind some trees by the roadside before they came too close. At least I think I managed. I don’t know. It seemed like one of them did see me... but they just walked away. Maybe I imagined it. That blow I took to the head… I barely remember what happened the day of the mission, so there’s no telling if I’m still being affected. And either way, I suppose croats aren’t really known for their sophisticated cognitive abilities, are they?_

_I made it into town eventually. It took a lot longer than I would’ve liked. I had to be a lot more careful with the croats wandering around, especially in the daylight. I never did find a car. Well, not a working one at least. I tried to fix one, but my knowledge of cars was far too limited to repair it. You probably could’ve fixed it though. I’ll try to catch a few hours of sleep before moving on on foot again._

_I don’t have much else to say about today, so why do I feel like I haven't said enough? I know you might not even see this, but maybe it’s because a part of me knows I won't survive long enough to tell you in person. I wish I could explain to you why this is, but I just feel it in my gut–and you taught me to trust my instincts._

_I’ve been wrong before, though. I hope I’m wrong again. But if I’m right, if this is the end… I’m sorry, Dean. I’m so sorry that our journey ended this way. I’ve said it before, but I’ll say it until I can be sure that you know it’s true. I’m sorry. I should’ve done better by you, and, I hope, wherever you are, you’re alright. It’s pathetic, isn’t it? That I carried you out of Hell myself, but now all I can do is hope? But that’s the best I can do now. Hope._

_I just wish that hope was enough._

_Yours,_

_Castiel_

\---

[ January 26, 2014. 16:09 ]

Cas pulls his jacket tight around himself, but it’s not much of a barrier against the freezing cold. His journal and pen lie on the floor by his side. He looks around himself lethargically, taking in the fading wallpaper, peeling at the edges, and the thick layer of dust and grime covering everything in sight. It’s a small house he’s found himself in, and it was clearly modest and sparse even before it was ransacked and ruined when the panic began. At least he’s found shelter, though–if only for a couple of hours. 

He turns on his transceiver to make another attempt at communication, but it only offers him a pathetic burst of crackling white noise before giving out completely, it’s battery drained. Castiel curses under his breath and tucks it back into one of his pockets. He sighs, closing his eyes to try to get some sleep, but his stomach protests, achingly empty. The few rations he had brought with him on the mission had been finished for a while now, and while the pulsing of his headache and the nausea of his near-constant fear had prevented him from fully feeling it, the hunger has now returned with a vengeance. He feels, in a word, awful, and he clenches his fist until he draws blood from his grubby palms just to feel something, anything else. 

This is the most sober Castiel has felt in weeks, if not months, and he hates it with a passion. He scolds himself for letting this get to him, for letting himself become this. He used to be strong, and now he sits on the floor of a house he doesn’t recognize, cold, hungry, lonely, and achingly in need of a high, and it’s the lowest he’s felt in an age. None of that matters though, not really, because Castiel has far more important things to be concerned with, and he has survived much worse. Cas closes his eyes again, shutting down his despair and trying one last time to let his fatigue take over. His last thoughts before drifting off are thoughts of Dean.

\---

[ January 26, 2014. 05:57 ]

“I’ll ask one last time, Lee. What the fuck did you mean?“

“Why don’t you ask Belphegor? He’s the one who screwed everything up. And he’s the one who ratted me out too, didn’t he?“ Blood drips from Lee’s forehead where he has a fresh wound, courtesy of the blade in Dean’s hand. It’s accompanied by a black eye, a broken nose, and a busted lip, and the bullet wound on his shoulder, though still partially covered by gauze, is looking far worse than it did an hour ago. Still, Lee doesn’t say what Dean wants to hear. Underneath the mask of arrogance he’s touting, he looks scared. Terrified of what Dean will do to him when he knows the truth. Dean thinks coldly that he’s right to be scared.

“Belphegor is dead,“ Dean replies bluntly. “You feel like joining him?“ Dean glares down at Lee with such unadulterated disgust that it in and of itself is an act of violence. Lee looks back at him pitifully. 

“Come on, brother. You really want to do this? You really want to know?” 

Dean doesn’t reply. His glare is persistent. He’s about ready to snap for the hundredth time in under an hour, and he knows it's plain to see. Finally, after a tense minute, Lee lets out a heavy sigh. 

“You know what happened, man. You’re not stupid. The demon, the one that took the colt from Belphegor? He was the runner. Cas caught up to him, and… well, you understand why we couldn’t let that slide.”

Dean’s mouth, already pulled into a thin angry line, twists into a new kind of hideous. He’s used to the low boil of anger just beneath the surface, he’s known little else for his entire life. This, the anger he feels now, though, it’s absolute and poisonous in a way he doesn’t recognize. He wants nothing else than to end Lee right this instant. He’s been let down before, betrayed, but this, for whatever reason, is worse than anything he’s ever endured. He wants Lee dead with everything in him, but he needs to know for sure. He needs to hear Lee say it. 

“Tell me the whole truth, Lee,” Dean prompts, his voice dripping with malice. “Look me in the eye and tell me what you did.”

“Dean, man, listen. I don’t–”

“Say it!” Dean snaps, letting the knife he’s holding clatter to the ground. Without thinking he pulls out the pistol strapped to his leg and holds it to Lee’s forehead. Lee exhales shakily, hesitating only for a moment before looking Dean directly in the eye. 

“I followed him,” Lee says quietly, “and I knocked him out cold before he knew what was happening.“ Lee shakes his head, trying to allay Dean’s fury. “I didn’t kill him though, man, I swear. I just didn’t know what else to do.”

Dean doesn’t respond. He just stares, heart beating loudly in his ears and his finger still on the trigger. Despite himself, Dean feels the burn of oncoming tears in his eyes and the grimace on his face, and his wrath falters, it’s severity undercut by the quivering of his lip. He looks at Lee and he sees someone who, for most of his life, he considered a close friend, now pathetic and bloodied and broken. Dean’s resolve wavers. He feels sick to his very core. Disgusted and helpless and small, and he loathes it. 

Lee looks up at him pleadingly. “Come on man. Don’t do this. You know you’ll regret it.” Lee attempts a smile, but it’s ugly and distorted on his broken face. “We’ve had some good times, haven’t we? You really want to throw all that away?“ 

And that’s the last straw, because even now, Dean realizes, Lee’s just looking out for himself the way he always has. The way Dean should’ve realized he has been all along, and that vile realization makes Dean hate himself infinitely more–especially because his willing ignorance may have come at the cost of his best friend’s life. Cas, who puts everyone else above himself time after time, whose intentions have never strayed from what is good, and kind, and just. Dean’s expression hardens. 

“No, Lee,” he replies unfalteringly. “No. You threw that away. You threw it away when you decided to take that deal. When you decided that working with demons–with _Lucifer_ was your best option. You threw it away when you left Cas alone to rot. So no, you don’t get to look back fondly on the past. You don’t get anything. Not anymore.“ Dean shuts his eyes. He steadies his breathing. 

For the second time today, he squeezes the trigger, and, once again, he does not miss.

\---


	4. PART IV

\---

[ January 26, 2014. 06:04 ]

Dean lets the door slam shut behind him. He feels the chafing of the icy breeze against his skin, and turns his face upwards to stare at the sky as it purples with early morning light. It looks vacant, the stars already fading until they’re reduced to mere pinpricks of barely-there light. Dean takes a long breath, deep and shuddering and lets his eyes flutter closed. He doesn’t know quite how long he stands like that before the footsteps approach him, but the crunching of old snow and forest floor debris underfoot is deafening after the hush.

“Hey chief,” Benny calls to him, but his familiar greeting is more sober than usual. Dean looks down to meet his eyes. He approaches carefully, striding closer to the doorway that Dean has found himself unable to move from. Benny’s eyes dart down to Dean’s hands, where the splatter of blood is still visible. He hasn’t bothered to wash it off yet. 

“So,” Benny starts, the measure of his voice slow and cautious. “Did you… is Lee–”

“Yeah,” Dean interrupts curtly, hoping to avoid a long conversation. “Yeah, he’s…” He trails off. He still can’t bring himself to say it. Not right now.

“Man, I’m really sorry. I know he–” Benny sighs. He shoves his hands in his pockets and peers at Dean empathetically. “I know he was an old friend. A close friend.”

Dean scoffs. “Yeah. I sure know how to pick ‘em, don’t I,” he says, more to himself than to Benny, who shifts uncomfortably all the same. “It’s fine though,” Dean continues. “I am–I’m good, man.”

“Forgive me if I don’t believe you, brother.“ Dean shoots him a warning look, and Benny throws his hands up in defense. “Hey, I’m not tryna pry or anything, I just–. What just went down… that can’t have been easy. And I want you to know I’ve got your back, whatever else happens. You know that, right?”

“Yeah, of course I do.“ Dean replies. He looks down at the ground and sniffles, hoping that the frostbitten red of his nose is a good enough disguise for his feelings. He’s grateful that Benny’s looking out for him. He is. But, this isn’t the time or the place for breaking down or spilling guts, especially not after what just happened. The taste of betrayal lingers, caustic at the back of his throat, and he trusts Benny, hell, probably more than he’d trusted Lee. But right now… He just can’t. 

After a too-long silence, Dean clears his throat and looks back up. “How about you though, man? Are you good? You almost–”

“Yeah, yeah I’m alright.“ Benny chuckles quietly. “Sure was a close one though. By the looks of the bullet hole in that tree behind me, I think I’d be pushin’ up daisies right about now. So, yeah, I’m doing just fine.” 

Dean smiles at that, and it almost reaches his eyes. Almost. “Good. I’m glad. Feels like we’ve been, uh, losing too many lately.”

“Yeah. Yeah it does.“ Benny agrees quietly. He pauses, before looking at Dean questioningly. “So, boss… what’s the plan now?”

Dean, grateful for the change in topic, lets the smile slip from his face once more. “Now… Now we’ve got to find Cas.”

Benny nods quickly, all business once again. “Of course. What d’you need me to do?”

“Get everyone ready. Jody, Charlie too if she wants to come. Get everyone from the last mission, since they’ll already be familiar with the area. Find replacements for the casualties and for… everyone else we’re missing.” Dean begins to move away, striding quickly towards the cluster of cabins that make up the majority of their camp. Benny follows suit, keeping pace with him. “I’ll send someone back to take care of–” Dean closes his eyes for a second and takes a deep breath. “To take care of Lee's body. We’re on the road at 10 at the latest but if everyone’s ready fast enough, I’d prefer to leave sooner.”

“Sounds like a plan, chief,” Benny replies good-naturedly, and he offers Dean a small reassuring smile before jogging off to ensure everything is prepared. Dean sighs and hesitates, standing still for just a moment. He inhales deeply and tries to clear his mind, to steady himself, and to prepare for whatever he might find once they leave.

\---

JANUARY 26, 2014: RESCUE ATTEMPT #1

HEADED OUT NOW TO FIND CAS. IT’S BEEN LESS THAN 48 HOURS, HE CAN’T HAVE GONE FAR, ASSUMING HE’S ON FOOT. THAT IS, IF NOTHING’S HAPPENED TO HIM, ~~BUT HE MIGHT ALREADY BE~~

I CAN’T THINK ABOUT THAT RIGHT NOW. WE’LL DRIVE OUT MOST OF THE WAY, BUT ONCE WE’RE A FEW HOURS OUT WE’LL MAKE STOPS TO SEARCH MANUALLY, AND WE’LL TRY TO ESTABLISH RADIO COMMUNICATION IF WE CAN. 

I’LL UPDATE WHEN WE RETURN. I HOPE TO GOD IT’LL BE GOOD NEWS, BUT I CAN’T HELP BUT THINK OTHERWISE. WHEN HAVE I LAST HAD GOOD NEWS. 

FUCK. PLEASE LET HIM BE OKAY.

\---

[ January 26, 2014. 18:17 ]

It’s far easier to sneak out of town in the low light of the evening. Castiel had once preferred the sustained sunlight of summertime, but he’s beginning to see the merit of the shorter days of the year, especially now. The cover of darkness is a blessing. He ducks back into the forest by the side of the highway, the cover of the trees a relief from the ever-present threat of lurking enemies back in town. He hadn’t managed to find much in the way of supplies, but he knows that had been wishful thinking anyways. It was a small town in the middle of nowhere, and at this point, even in big cities, most everything useful has already been taken, or if it’s still there, it’s broken-down past the point of salvaging.

Castiel stifles a yawn as he trudges through the woods. The sound of it would likely have been masked by the nighttime chatter of forest creatures, but he’s still on edge after the close call from earlier in the day. He’s tired, but not enough to be careless. He had managed a little under two hours of slumber, and though it wasn’t much it should still hold him over, for a while at least. Weariness tugs on his eyelids, weighty like bags of sand, but when it comes to exhaustion, Castiel is a heavyweight champion. Sleep is still a foreign and unwelcome entity, and he avoids it whenever possible, even at the best of times. Any sleep he does get is utterly dreamless, and he feels a little less human for it–though he’s not sure whether or not that’s a bad thing. 

He does remember Dean’s dreams though, the ones he had visited, and he distracts himself with the memory of them as he pushes through the undergrowth. 

Often, the worlds behind Dean’s closed eyes were nothing but nightmares. Smoke, acrid and burning at his eyes, his nose, the back of his throat–and the fire licking at his heels as he stumbles, because he’s only a child and his arms are aching and he can't run fast enough, and everything around him is ablaze. Other nights it’s the faces from the pit, twisted and howling, and they writhe as they emerge from the dirt beneath Dean’s feet and drag him, kicking and screaming, back into the belly of the earth. Whenever Castiel had happened upon one of those terrible dreams, he’d ease it away with a barely-there touch on Dean’s forehead before leaving without a word. If Dean had known why so many of his nightmares were cut short, fading away without a trace, he didn't let on. Cas sighs heavily at the thought of it, the guilt he feels every time he sees Dean in the morning, the circles under his eyes dark like bruises. There is no one to soothe Dean’s nightmares away anymore, though, so, instead, Castiel thinks of the good dreams–far between but happily present–and he smiles into the darkness until his eyes crinkle at the corners. 

Sometimes the good dreams are memories, bathed in the gauzy warmth of youth and blurred out at the edges. Dean dreams of grass between his toes in the backyard of his childhood home, of eating ice cream with Sam that he’d paid for in nickels and dimes, and how it leaves his hands sticky and sweet in the warmth of the summer sun. He dreams of watching the stars, sprawled out on a blanket in a field that no one cares to remember, the impala beside him as he revels in his solitude. By contrast, some dreams are not memories, exactly, but merely wishful thinking. The coolness of the wet sand beneath his toes as he gazes out at the ocean before him, a white picket fence and a freshly mowed lawn–although he’d never admit that out loud. Some dreams are of fishing, where it’s always a warm autumn day and he never runs out of bait.

Castiel treasures those dreams, and though they are not his to hold onto he clings to them tightly and keeps them tucked safely in his chest. Despite the cold, he is warmed to his very soul–or whatever semblance of a soul that he might possess. He can picture Dean’s face perfectly in his mind's eye, in all its rosy, golden, freckled perfection. The crookedness of his nose where it’s been broken a few too many times, his eyes that flash bright green like the sun does in the moment before it sets. Castiel feels less alone than he has in days, and he treks onward, with renewed vigor, because if he has the chance to see Dean once more he’ll take it and run with it without a second thought.

\---

_Hello Dean,_

_If… WHEN I get back home, let’s go fishing. You’ve spoken of it often, and I’d love to know what I’ve been missing._

_I hope you don’t mind teaching me. You’ve always been a good teacher._

_Yours,_

_Castiel_

\---

DEAN: Cas? Cas are you on?

_[ silence ]_

Castiel? Can you hear this?

We’re coming Cas, we’re gonna find you. I’m so sorry this is taking so long, Cas, I–

I’m so sorry we left you, but we’re gonna get you home safe, okay? I promise. I promise.

\---

[ January 26, 2014. 18:42 ]

The car door shuts violently, and Dean slams his fist on the dashboard hard enough to bruise. Charlie slips into the car beside him with much less fanfare. She closes the passenger door and looks over at him. 

“We’ll find him, Dean. We will.” The smile on her face is meant to be reassuring, but Dean can see straight through her. The hours pass unforgivingly, and they’re all losing faith in the outcome of their search. Dean scrubs a hand over his face and takes a deep breath before shifting the truck into gear and starting it up. 

“I hope you’re right.”

They drive off ahead, a caravan of beaten up cars and trucks following closely in their wake, but Dean no longer notices the rumbling of their engines, nor does he notice the way the truck jerks as he drives straight over the potholes in this fractured section of road. He looks straight ahead and the twin white lines leading forward into the dark look like they're leading him directly into the gaping maw of some vast unknown creature, but that’s nothing new. They’ve been driving for ten hours now, and they’d stopped and searched the woods on foot three times already. They’d attempted to establish radio communication more time than Dean can count. Nothing has come of any of it.

Dean stares ahead, and his heart has given up its frantic pounding. All of him feels stony, cold and unmoving. His eyes are open wide but what he sees amounts to nothing. 

All he wants to see is Cas.

\---

DEAN: Hey, Cas. It’s uh– it’s me again. 

You probably can’t hear this but, just in case… We’re still looking for you. And we’ll keep looking until we find you.

I’m not going home without you, Cas.

\---

[ January 26, 2014. 21:38]

“This is taking too long,” Dean sighs quietly, and it’s barely discernible against the mechanical hum of the engine and the low rumble of tires treading over damaged asphalt. Dean has lost the capacity to care enough that his hand is shaking on the stick shift as he pulls back onto the main road. Another failed search, and another small spark of hope that he didn't even know he had left has been pummeled into dust. He thought he’d seen something in the trees this time, black hair and blue eyes in the midst of all that green ghosting at the edges of his vision, but, of all people, Dean should know that ghosts are never what you want them to be. He returns to the road empty-handed again.

Charlie rests her head heavily on the window. “I know it is.” With her good hand she absently fiddles with the pull of her zipper, and she doesn’t turn to look at him this time, but it’s dark and Dean’s eyes are on the road so he pretends it doesn’t make a difference. “But we’ll find him, Dean. Eventually.” She tries to say it like she means it, but Charlie’s never had a gift for telling lies.

They drive in silence for a long while, but the despair that hangs in the air is suffocating, and, eventually, Dean just can’t take it.

“He’s dead already, isn’t he?”

“Dean–”

“He’s dead and it’s on me. If I had just–”

“Dean, _please_ don’t do this to yourself.”

“Maybe I deserve it.” Dean’s stomach twists into a tangled mess and something at the back of his mind tells him he shouldn’t subject Charlie to this, how saturated he is in shame and self-loathing, that she has enough on her shoulders as it is. The monsters in his mind are louder, though, gnarled and ugly enough to give voice to his vices, so what’s one more sin amidst the legions of others. “Maybe this is what happens when you put the fate of the world in the hands of someone worthless. I mean, Charlie, look me in the eye and tell me I haven’t failed miserably at almost everything I’ve tried. You can't do it, can you?”

Charlie turns to Dean, lips pursed and brow pinched. Her eyes look so sad, and Dean almost laughs because god, he just can’t stop hurting people he cares about and at this point it’s getting ridiculous. “You try, Dean,” she says firmly, but Dean just shakes his head. “You try your best with the shitty cards you were dealt, and that makes you a good person, no matter what the outcome is.”

“That’s not enough. It’s never been. I mean, man, if my best is this bad–” Dean does laugh this time, and it comes out empty and cold as ice. “If my best is failing everyone that’s put their faith in me, time, after time, after time, then we’re all fucked. More than we already thought we were.” He continues, and he can’t look Charlie in the eye. “Let’s face it. It was my fault for blindly trusting Lee. It’s my fault the colt’s lying at the bottom of the lake, probably gone for good. Hell, I’m the one who kickstarted the damn apocalypse in the first place because I can’t stop failing. And now we’re trying to find one person on an infinite stretch of road, and–and I just can’t.” 

“You can't just give up, Dean, not now.” Charlie looks at him pleadingly and Dean just shakes his head.

“I won’t stop looking, I couldn’t do that to Cas, but I’m not gonna kid myself either. Even in the best conditions this’d be damn near impossible, and we lost daylight _hours_ ago, and who knows how far he got if he was even able to move. What if we’re wasting all this time when he’s still where Lee left him? If we find him just a second too late? And he could be–god, he could already be–” Dean chokes down a sob and swipes at his face to rid himself of tears he doesn’t remember falling. “I love him, Charlie, so much it hurts, and if I lose him, especially like this…” Dean chews at his lips until they’re near bleeding. He can’t think straight, and his vision is dangerously watery at the corners. He turns his gaze to Charlie, remorseful. “And this shouldn’t even be about me. He’s your friend too and I took that from you. I don’t know how you can even look at me.”

“Dean,” she says so sincerely that his heart breaks all over again, “I don’t blame you. And you shouldn’t blame yourself. And when we find Cas–and we _will_ –I know without a doubt that he won’t blame you either.”

Dean looks at Charlie and the ends of his lips quirk up just a little. It’s as close to a smile as he can manage, and it’s fractured like he doesn’t believe her for a second, but he appreciates the effort all the same. “Thank you. For being here. I know I’m the one who should be reassuring you.”

Charlie smiles back at him, and it’s not as big and bright and toothy as it used to be before all this started, but it’s nonetheless a comfort. “Just because you feel like you need to carry the weight of the world on your shoulders, that doesn't mean that you don’t deserve support. You deserve to be okay just as much as the rest of us, Dean. Even if you don’t believe it.”

\---

DEAN: Think I saw something. Pull over, make sure everyone else follows suit. We’re making another stop.

BENNY: Roger that, chief. Over and out.

\---

[ January 26, 2014. 21:54 ]

The searches bring with them a whole new kind of anxiety, because, with everything in him, Dean wants to call out Cas’s name, to race frantically through the trees leaving no stone unturned, and every moment he’s a hair’s breadth away from doing exactly that–but he knows that he can’t. He’s endangered everyone’s lives enough by bringing them here in the first place. He’s not going to put them all at further risk by acting out, even if he wants to. He won’t turn them all into a beacon for wandering croats, demons, and any other brand of evil that might be lurking nearby. 

Dean may be nearly mad with desperation, but he’s not that far gone. Not yet.

They walk quietly, all ten of them, abandoning their cars by the roadside. They move where the forest is still sparse, and Dean holds onto the silent hope that if Cas is in these woods he hasn’t strayed too far from the treeline, because the denser the wood becomes, the more impossible the search. They fan out until their group is stretched thin, and they begin to scour the forest for any sign of Castiel. Charlie and Jody are a few feet away from him when he hears it.

They all turn at once, and the liminal time in which they wait feels like a decade, but it’s only moments before they hear it again. The sound of branches and frozen soil underfoot, this time clearly accompanied by unfamiliar movement in the trees. Dean turns on his heel, rifle in hand, finger on the trigger. He holds his breath, and for a moment it seems like it was just his imagination, but the branches move again and his breath lapses almost entirely. He lowers his gun and then he forgets how to move because there is Castiel, in all his grimy, unshaven, blue-eyed glory, standing a mere few feet in front of him like he hadn’t been gone a second. 

Everyone else around him blurs out of existence, and finally, finally, Dean’s body catches up to his racing mind. He slings the rifle back over his shoulder and moves toward Cas, slowly at first and then breaking into a run, his feet carrying him forward as fast as they possibly can despite the shrubs and the broken branches doing their damndest to trip him up. In an instant he is there, standing in front of his best friend, pulling him into a bone-crushing hug, and his entire being sings with it. Dean knows it’ll be a long time before he ever wants to let go, but he can’t bring himself to care. In return, Castiel’s arms, at first hanging at his side in shock, come to wrap around Dean tightly, pulling him impossibly closer. 

The relief Dean feels burying his face in Castiel’s shoulder is enough to push away the thought that after all this, finding Cas was almost too easy. It doesn’t matter. Everything is perfect. In this moment it feels like nothing will ever go wrong again. 

This is what victory feels like.

\---


	5. PART V

\---

[ January 26, 2014. 22:01]

Maybe Dean should be embarrassed by the way he holds onto Cas like a drowning man to a life preserver. By how, even after pulling away, he has to reach out to touch Cas’s face, he  _ needs _ to, just to make sure he’s real. And he is real, Dean knows now for certain. His palm still feels warm from where it had just moments ago rested against Castiel’s cheek, and his skin still prickles with the phantom scratch of stubble.

Maybe he should be embarrassed, but he can’t find it in himself to care. Not now that he has Cas back.

After they finally part, the others welcome Cas back too: a warm hug from Charlie, an enthusiastic handshake from Benny, but as more of the group crowd in around him, Dean’s nerves start to pick up again. They’re making too much noise, and none of them are watching themselves as attentively as they should be. If anyone were to attack right now they’d all be slaughtered. They’d come this far, and if he were to lose everyone  _ now _ , if he were to lose Cas after all that’s happened… it doesn’t even bear thinking about.

“Alright, everybody,” Dean keeps his voice low, but his tone is commanding enough that everyone turns to face him. He tries not to single Cas out with his gaze, but he can’t seem to look away, the cobalt flash of his eyes are magnetic in the fall-off glow from the flashlight beams. Dean clears his throat and continues. “We’d better clear out now. We’re too exposed here. Rendezvous back at camp, and check in if you run into any trouble.” He breaks eye contact with Cas and sweeps his eyes over the group as a whole. He’s careful not to let the veneer of leadership slip away, not completely, but he offers a nod and small appreciative smile. “Thank you all for your efforts. Let’s move out.” He hurries back to Cas’s side–although he hadn’t strayed very far to begin with–and they trek back towards the cars. Castiel still hasn’t said much at all, a few words of greeting and gratitude, but he keeps pace with Dean as they stride through the forest. He steals glances though, often, and Dean catches his eye every single time. The walk is mere minutes, but time drags on slow, silent, and stretched out like taffy.

When they finally reach the truck and the doors are shut behind them, Dean lets out a long breath he didn’t know he was holding. He looks over at Cas and finds that his eyes are already on him, and in an instant Dean’s smiling, bright and wide as he ever has, because there’s no need for pretense anymore. Not here. Castiel wears a matching grin, toothy and big enough to scrunch up his face in all the right places, and in the hazy blue light of the waning winter moon, their twin smiles glow like headlights. Like they were never apart at all.

“Hey, Cas,” Dean breathes out, quiet as a secret. The other cars are gone now, the road long empty, but not even the highway should be able to hear the tenderness in Dean’s voice or see the way his fingers flex at his side, longing to reach out and touch.

“Hello, Dean,” Cas replies and Dean’s grin widens impossibly because he had thought he’d never hear those words leave Castiel’s lips again. Dean studies Cas carefully, taking in the rosiness of his cheeks beneath the dirt, the cool blue of his eyes. That’s when he notices the blood.

It had been barely perceptible before, dried brownish and hidden near his hairline, covered up by the stray strands of hair that hung down in front of his forehead, but now, under close scrutiny, it’s unmistakable. Dean reaches out, tucking back the loose hair and brushing his fingers near the injury. Castiel winces slightly, and Dean lowers his hand so that it once again is on Cas’s cheek. He notices the way Cas leans into him involuntarily, but the warmth of that is overshadowed by the sudden pang of guilt he feels, sharp as the twist of a knife.

“Cas, I’m so sorry. I’m so,  _ so _ sorry you were on your own. If I had just–”

“No,” Cas shakes his head, “don’t take the blame for this. You looked for me. You found me. And it’s okay now. Everything is okay.” Dean’s brow furrows, poised to argue, but he pauses. Maybe it’s just that Dean’s just paying more attention now, laser-focused on everything Cas does, but his voice has a shakiness to it, and his movements are languid and fragmented. Dean looks down at Cas’s hands and realizes that they’re shaking.

“Shit, what was I thinking?” Dean takes Cas’s hand in his, and curses himself for getting swept up in the reunion because his hand feels cold as ice. “Cas, you’re freezing. You gotta tell me if you’re cold.” Dean moves, quickly, struggling to take off his coat in the constraints of the driver’s seat of the truck and he promptly begins to wrap the jacket tight around Cas, who only shakes his head again.

“I don't feel–I’m not that cold.”

Dean fixes him with a stern look. “Then you probably have mild hypothermia. Which is even worse.”

“Won’t you be cold?”

“I’ll live,” Dean shrugs, and his lips quirk up when Cas shuffles, pulling the jacket even more snug around himself. “We’ll get you checked out when we get home. Your head injury too. But man, you gotta get some rest now. You look like you’ve been through hell.”

“So do you, Dean.”

“Hey, don’t worry about me,” Dean replies with a small smile. “Just try to get some sleep for now. Please?”

Cas hesitates a moment before giving in, nodding slowly and letting his eyes fall closed. Dean exhales, slow and cloudy in the night air, and finally starts the car, turning around in a wide ‘U’ and heading back to where they came from. If Dean reaches out over the console to loosely hold Cas’s hand because he’s half afraid he might just disappear, well, no one needs to know but the two of them.

They drive back together, following the snaking path of the highway all the way home without incident, the low hum and rumble of the truck their road music. Cas sleeps the whole ride back. Absently, Dean wonders what he's dreaming about. 

\---

DEAN: Chuck? Can you hear this?

CHUCK: Loud and clear. Uh, are you guys–

DEAN: We’re pulling in now. I want medical on standby. Nothing major, I don‘t think, but just in case.

CHUCK: So does that mean…?

DEAN: It does. We found him, Chuck. He’s safe.

\---

  
  
  


JANUARY 27, 2014: RESCUE ATTEMPT SUCCESSFUL

CAS IS HOME. HE’S HOME SAFE.

HE’S GETTING CHECKED OUT OVER AT MEDICAL, THEY THINK HE HAS A MILD CASE OF HYPOTHERMIA AND THEY NEED TO CLEAN UP HIS HEAD INJURY, BUT IT’S NOTHING TOO SERIOUS. I’M HEADED OVER THERE TO SEE HIM RIGHT NOW. 

STILL NO LUCK WITH THE COLT, BUT WHO KNOWS. 

IT SEEMS LIKE THINGS ARE LOOKING UP.

\---

[ January 27, 2014. 09:52]

Just as Dean’s gathering his things to leave, he hears a knock at the door, and he knows who it is before he even opens it. It’s Cas, of course it is, and he stands there in front of the open door, wind chafed and freshly bandaged and perfect and  _ real _ . 

“Hey,” Dean breathes out, a grin creeping its way back onto his face. “I was just about to come and see you.” He moves away from the door frame, allowing Cas the space to walk inside the cabin. “What did medical have to say? They give you the all-clear?”

Cas smiles back at him. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m good. They just recommended I lay low for a while.” Dean nods in acknowledgment and for countless moments they just stand there wordlessly, looking intently into each other’s eyes. The frequency of their staring matches has  increased substantially–which is a feat in and of itself–but, as always, it’s Dean who breaks away first. Dean worries his lip and nods again. 

“So, I know we have another briefing soon but I gotta know… what happened to you out there?” 

Cas squints in concentration and takes a second to collect his thoughts. “It was... pretty foggy at first. I woke up quite a few hours after you had all left, and–” Dean’s face falls at the mention of that and he averts his eyes, but Cas places a reassuring hand on his shoulder and looks at him intently until Dean meets his again. “Dean, you don’t have to feel–”

“I’m okay, I’m okay” Dean interrupts, forcing a small smile. “What happened next?” 

Castiel tilts his head, evidently still concerned, but he continues. “After I figured out that everyone was already gone, I made my way out of town. It was… surprisingly easy. There were no croats or demons in sight.” Dean frowns uneasily at that, but he doesn’t interrupt. “I managed to get to the highway, I stuck to the treeline, and, for the most part, I just walked back along the route we had taken to get there until you found me. I stopped into one town looking for  supplies but that was both fruitless and uneventful… mostly.” Cas chuckles lightly. “I definitely did have a concussion when I came to, but luckily it must’ve been mild because I seem to be okay now. And well…” Cas gestures vaguely to himself, “here I am.”

Dean’s lips upturn at the corners, but his smile is still terribly pained. He wonders if he’ll ever stop feeling guilty for this, for leaving Cas out there all alone even if nothing too horrible had come of it. 

“Here you are,” Dean agrees, and he shakes his head. “It’s a good thing too, For a while there I was really, uh…” Dean’s fingers fiddle with the loose threads on the sleeves of his jacket. “I missed you, buddy.” He looks down at the ground. “Cas, I’m just–I’m really, really sorry. I mean I learned later that you’d been knocked out. Lee, he, um…” Dean’s still not looking at Cas, but he can feel the sympathy of his gaze bearing down on him, and the warmth of it stings like a sunburn because he knows without a doubt that he is undeserving. 

“I know, Dean, I heard. I’m so sorry.” 

Dean lets out a short humorless chuckle. “You’re sorry? He’s the one who… Cas, you have absolutely nothing to be sorry for.” Dean takes in a shaky breath and steadies himself. “But I do. I shouldn’t have ever left you. I should’ve looked harder. Who knows what could’ve happened, and even if you’re okay now, I’m–” Dean sighs and shakes his head, cutting himself off abruptly. He still can’t make eye contact, staring down at the uneven floorboards and tracing the knots in the wood grain with his gaze when he feels Cas’s hand on his chin, lifting his face up and coaxing Dean’s eyes to meet his own. 

“I  _ am _ okay Dean. And I intend on staying that way.” Castiel’s eyes are utterly saturated in fondness and sincerity, the blue of them inviting as warm waters and Dean thinks he could just stay like this forever, out at sea for the rest of his life but never lost, not ever. “And Dean,” Cas continues earnestly, “even if I hadn’t come back–”

“Cas, don’t say that–”

“Even if I had died out there… Dean, you’d have already been forgiven.” Cas looks at Dean and his gaze is so tender it’s knee-buckling. Dean can’t help but lean into the warmth of Cas’s palm where it still cups his face, and he wants Cas so badly that he’s sick with it. Cas’s eyes are heavy-lidded and he slowly, achingly slowly, he leans in closer and Dean lets his eyes flutter closed because he’d be kidding himself if he said that he hadn’t desperately wanted to give in for so long now, and–

The transceiver on the desk beside them crackles loudly to life. Dean’s eye’s snap open wide and he offers Cas a weak smile, but the moment is over. Cas’s hand falls to his side and Dean lets the moment pass, pretends he can’t see the way Cas’s face falls, because even though he wants this desperately, so much it genuinely hurts, he knows that Cas is far more than he deserves, and Cas deserves far better than him. He reaches for his radio as if nothing had happened at all.

\---

BENNY: Hey chief. We still having that briefing? Everyone’s here, except–

DEAN: Yeah, me and Cas are on route. We’ll be there in a minute.

BENNY: Copy that. Sorry, I didn’t mean to intrude, or–

DEAN: Intrude what? Nothing to intrude. Not a problem. We’ll be over in a second. Over and out.

\---

[ January 27, 2014. 10:18]

Castiel watches as Dean scrubs a hand over his face. It’s not good news, it really isn’t, so he waits for Dean's inevitable outburst… but it doesn’t come. Instead, Dean just sighs, glancing down briefly at Cas where he sits beside him before looking back over at Benny across the room. 

“You’re sure?”

“The whole issue is that we can’t be sure of anything. We were limited in our resources to begin with, and we haven’t had much luck resupplying, worldwide plague and all. And it’s the climate too. Even our best swimmers can’t stay under that long with the water as cold as it is. We’re just lucky the lake hasn’t frozen over completely. I’m still organizing teams to keep up the search, but there’s not much else we can do, chief.”

“Okay,” Dean replies slowly, his brow pinched in concentration and his fingers drumming absently on the wood of the table in front of him. The tapping is the only noise breaking the silence of the room, and it echoes in Castiel’s head, consistent as a heartbeat. Again he watches, waits for the anger to boil over, but, in the end, all Dean does is shake his head. “We’ll find another way then.” 

Charlie shoots Cas a surprised look from where she sits across the table from him, and Cas, caught off guard, offers only a small shrug of his own. In the past few months, Dean had been stretched thin and wound up tight, an elastic band just waiting to snap. If anything went sideways–especially something as important as this–he would’ve exploded, letting his  frustration get the better of him. There’s a calm to him now, though, a measured intentionality that Cas hadn’t seen from him in a long while. The anger was still there, of course, simmering perpetually beneath the surface, but that had been a fixture in Dean long before their paths had even crossed, and it’s not overtaking him, not now. Cas peers at the familiar few faces around the room, and it seems that most everyone else is at least a little startled by Dean’s composure as well. Jody looks at Dean quizzically.

“We’ve been focused on the colt for years now. Where would we even start to look for another way?”

“Well, we can start with more research. We don’t have to give up on the colt entirely, but there’s nothing wrong with having options. We’ll keep up the search for as long as we can, but if we can manage to find a way to trap or kill the devil that isn’t already fish food, hell, I’m all for it.”

It’s not a bad idea to seek out alternatives, of course, but they’d done exhaustive research before and come up empty–which is the reason they fixated on the colt in the first place. Dean knows all that, though, and he wouldn’t suggest this change in direction without reason. Cas squints up at him, poised to ask a question, and he doesn’t miss the way Dean’s eyes are on him in an instant, or the tiny quirk of his lips before he quickly schools his face into something more neutral. Castiel would be lying if he said that even that didn’t make his heart beat a little bit faster, but he tamps down his fondness, focusing on the matter at hand.

“We’ve gone through all of our resources before, though. Did you have something else in mind?”

“I’ve been going through some of Bobby’s old notes,” Dean nods, “and it looks like there were some safehouses he had scattered around the country with some of his more obscure materials stored away. He didn’t have a chance to get to them before he…” Dean trails off and clears his throat. Cas doesn’t even have a chance to offer a look of sympathy before Dean’s turned away from him. “We’ll send out some teams to gather all the resources he has stored away. It might take a bit of time, but maybe we’ll find what we need in those.”

“Maybe?” Benny repeats, but it’s clearly more out of concern than contempt. They’ve all been fighting this losing battle for so long, and there’s still so much more they could be yet to part with. Castiel peers at Dean curiously, and notes with some surprise the determined set of his jaw, how something small but hopeful seems to have ignited in his eyes. It feels almost as if a part of him that had been buried for years has risen from the dead. It’s something familiar, because when he had first held Dean’s soul in the palms of his hands it had been there too, flickering but unfathomably beautiful, and unquestionably  _ Dean _ . It takes Castiel’s breath away all over again.

“It’s a long shot. Believe me, I know,” Dean sighs, but his eyes dart to meet Cas’s gaze. The beginnings of a smile eases onto his face, and, this time, he doesn’t force it away. “But I guess I’m feeling lucky.”

\---

[ January 27, 2014. 11:05 ]

“You and Dean seem better.” Charlie smiles impishly as she walks by Castiel’s side. She’s interlocked their arms, and there’s a buoyancy in her stride that makes Cas smile too. He shakes his head, but his expression betrays him.

“Charlie…”

“What? I’m just saying.” She wiggles her eyebrows playfully, drawing a soft chuckle out of Cas. “So did you guys talk, or–?” Castiel’s face falls slightly at that, and he absently kicks at some of the stray stones by his feet as they continue along the path. 

“We did. A bit.” He forces a small smile back onto his face hoping to appease Charlie. The palm of his hand hums with a dull ache, warmed at just the thought of the way Dean leaned into his touch, how his eyes fluttered closed like he wanted to give in, like he’d let himself have this. Charlie looks at him sympathetically.

“He’s still being stubborn, huh?”

“Well, you know Dean. When is he not?” Cas replies, and his tone teeters unsteadily on the precipice between fondness and melancholy.

“Still!” Charlie exclaims, and she stops short, placing her hands on Castiel’s shoulders and with a solemn expression on her face. “Do you need me to knock some sense into him? I’ll do it, I’m sure he has it coming,” she says earnestly and it’s so unexpected that it startles a laugh from him. Charlie grins in return and they begin walking again in the vague direction of Cas’s cabin. “Seriously though, this is ridiculous. I don’t know how you handle it, I’m this close to… I don’t even know. I love that boy, but man, he never gives himself a break.”

Cas exhales slowly into the cool air, watching the clouds of his breath curl and dance in the breeze before disappearing without a trace. “I know. But if I tried to force something to happen before he’s ready… I mean, last time I tried, we barely spoke for weeks.”

“I don’t know, Cas. When you were gone, when he thought he’d lost you… I think it changed him. If you’d have seen how he was–” Charlie shakes her head, the thought of Dean’s distress alone clearly upsetting. “Maybe you should try again.”

Castiel smiles at her, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. His journal weighs heavy against his heart where it lies untouched in the breast pocket of his jacket. The winter sun peeks through the canopy of the trees, freckling the ground with spots of light. Cas keeps his gaze fixed ahead. 

“Yeah, Maybe.”

\---

DEAN: So we’re clear on the plan for tomorrow?

BENNY: Crystal. We’re dispatching the teams to the different safehouses at first light.

DEAN: Right. Charlie, you okay with coordinating from ground control?

CHARLIE: Sounds like a plan.

DEAN: Alright. Thanks, guys, that’ll be all.

BENNY: Roger that, chief. Over and out.

CHARLIE: Copy that. And Dean, you still on?

DEAN: Yeah, what’s up kiddo?

CHARLIE: I just think–maybe it wouldn’t hurt to talk to Cas. He seems… unsure about the situation between the two of you. And I know this is different, but after last time–

DEAN: Yeah, yeah, I–

You’re probably right. I just didn’t want to have to… You know.

_ [ silence ] _

CHARLIE: Wait, Dean, come on. You’re not gonna just tell him to–

DEAN: I, uh, I gotta go now Charlie. I’ll catch up with you later, okay? Thanks for your help. Over and out.

\---

[ January 27, 2014. 20:36 ]

Castiel sits silently on the modestly sized porch of his cabin. He has a blanket wrapped around him over top of his jacket, wary of the cold after the events of the previous few days–but he tries not to dwell on that. He doesn’t think about how he was chilled through to the very marrow of his bones, or how uneasiness had crept into every crack and crevice until the entirety of his being was barely overwhelmed. How he had believed without a doubt that the bad was just going to get worse. Instead, he stares up at the sky, knees hugged tight to his chest. He listens intently to the low hum of white noise filtering through open cabin windows and drifting up from the icy gravel paths. In the past few years, this place had become his home, and the familiarity of just being here, no matter the circumstances, is soothing. Although his back is turned, Castiel is not startled when he hears Dean’s percussive footfalls as he treads up the creaking wooden staircase, because, of course, Dean is the most familiar part of all of this. For nearly as long as they have known each other, Dean has been more his home than anything else in the universe.

He doesn’t turn to face Dean, electing instead to wait as Dean quietly shuffles beside him, hesitating briefly before lowering himself down to the ground next to Castiel. Dean lets his legs tangle up and folds his arms on so that he’s hugging his chest against the cold. Cas can feel Dean’s gaze against his skin, and the contented expression on his face stretches into a slight smile as Dean attempts to surreptitiously shuffle closer, until there’s an unbroken line of contact up the side of their bodies. Dean doesn’t seem inclined to talk, so Castiel chooses to break the silence instead. He turns his head to catch his friend’s eyes before Dean can fix his attention elsewhere. 

“Hello, Dean.” 

Dean’s lips quirk up at that, as if he had expected nothing less. He gazes at Cas wordlessly for a long moment, before he finally speaks. 

“Hey, Cas,” Dean starts, but he seems to realize quickly that he's at a loss for words because his eyes widen slightly and he lets out a startled chuckle. Dean tears his eyes away from Cas's face, but Castiel does not follow suit, instead studying the slope of Dean’s jaw, the arch of his nose, the bow of his lips. He knows Dean can feel the presence of his gaze. After a minute, Dean shakily lets go of the breath he has been holding, but he continues to stare straight ahead, intentionally  _ not _ at Castiel. 

“Hey, I just–we gotta set something straight, okay? Before we move forward.” He swallows heavily, eyes fixed on the night sky. “Cas, I… You know you mean so much to me, don’t you? That you’re my best friend?” There's a tremor in his voice like he’s leading in a direction Cas won’t want to follow, but Castiel nods anyways, prompting Dean to continue. “Good. Thats, uh–okay. I just need you to know that. Because, when I tell you that we  _ can’t _ do this… whatever this is, I need you to understand that it’s for your own good, alright? That I’m trying to save you from–” Dean falters, and even in the low light of the moon Castiel can see the first tear roll down his cheek. “I’m just trying to save you from me.”

“Dean,” Cas exhales, and he hears it come out broken, shattered, like his heart, into thousands of little pieces. He turns his whole body towards Dean and reaches out to cup his face in a gesture that has, in just the last couple days, become all too familiar. Dean finally looks him in the eye, and he has never appeared so fragile, pleading as desperately as he can with just a look for Cas to pull his hand away, as though he lacks the willpower to do it himself. Castiel shakes his head, and instead draws soothing circles onto Dean's cheek with his thumb. “Dean, no. Why would I need saving, especially from you of all people?” 

Dean’s eyes fall closed, his lashes wet with tears and stuck together at the ends. “Cas, you don’t understand,” he whispers. “I’m cursed, I have to be, because everyone I care about, they all end up the same.” Dean opens his eyes, and he looks so pained that Castiel feels it too, a deep dark ache that’s caged just beneath the ribs. “And I care about you so  _ much _ , Cas. So much it terrifies me. I can’t help but look at myself and think… you fell for this? For me? And you deserve so much better than that, especially since there's only one way this can end–and it’s not pretty. So please, I’m begging here–you gotta let this go, man. You have to let me go.” 

Castiel wipes away the tears on Dean’s face with his fingertips, drying them as they fall, and he watches as Dean leans into it like he can’t help it, closing his eyes and falling silent with a shaky breath, soaking in the warmth of the way Cas touches him like it’ll be the last time.

“Dean,” Castiel murmurs, and he startles even himself with the reverence of it. Dean opens his eyes and Cas is looking right at him, right  _ into _ him. He’s seeing every cut and bruise and tear and wrinkle, every knotted silvery scar that mars his wretched worn-out heart, and Castiel doesn't run, he never will. Despite every ugly tragedy that has burrowed its way deep into his soul, Dean is still radiant, a beacon in the treacherous waters of this miserable little world. Castiel has never seen someone shine so brightly in all his eons, and it’s devastating.

“Dean Winchester,” Castiel insists, “you are not cursed. You’re beautiful in ways that defy description. I can try to explain, though, to make you understand if only you’ll let me. But you need to allow yourself to have this. We can be happy. You can be happy.” Dean shakes his head as frantically as he can without withdrawing, but Castiel presses on, even more determined than before. “Look me in the eyes, Dean, and tell me you don’t want this. That it doesn’t make you ache. Tell me I’m the only one who feels this way, and this will all be forgotten. I’ll let us go.” 

“Cas,” Dean whispers hoarsely, “You know I can’t say that.”

Castiel smiles at Dean earnestly. “Then don’t say it.” 

The distance between them wasn't much to begin with, but Castiel leans further into Dean’s space with purpose, and, despite everything, all his fears and doubts and demons, Dean does not back away. Their lips touch and its cosmic, galaxies erupting into existence behind Castiel’s closed eyelids just when he’d thought he’d never see stars being born again. 

They’re through the looking glass now, past the point of no return, but, if they’re honest with themselves, they have been for some time now. 

By the time they finally part, it feels like days, or, perhaps centuries have passed them by, and yet it’s over all too soon. Deans shakes his head with a sad little smile, his nose and cheeks bitten rosy by the wind, and his expression is equal parts exultant and terrified.

“I’m scared,” he whispers. “Cas, I’m so fucking scared.”

“So am I,” Cas responds quietly, leaning his forehead against Dean’s, the tips of their noses bumping against each other. Every point of contact sets both their hearts alight all over again, and if the sun itself were extinguished, surely they would shine brightly enough to keep the Earth intact. “But we can face this,  _ together _ . I promise.”

\---

JANUARY 28, 2014: PRE-MISSION #238

COLT IS STILL LOST, BUT WE’RE FOCUSING OUR EFFORTS ON ALTERNATIVE SOLUTIONS. DISPATCHED MOST TEAMS TO BOBBY’S SAFEHOUSES AT 07:00 THIS MORNING. HOPING TO HAVE RETRIEVED ALL HIS RESEARCH MATERIALS BY THE END OF THE MONTH. 

HEADING OUT TO ONE OF SAFEHOUSES WITH CAS TOMORROW. HE’S STILL RECOVERING, BUT I DIDN’T WANT TO LEAVE HIM BEHIND. 

ALL NEW MATERIALS WILL BE CATALOGUED. FURTHER UPDATES PENDING SUCCESS OF MISSIONS.

\---

[ January 28, 2014. 07:19 ]

The camp feels empty with so many people having left on retrieval missions, the normal buzz and bustle of the hour dulled significantly. Charlie, Dean and Castiel watch as the last team’s truck pulls away from the small gravel lot, leaving only a couple of parked cars in its wake. It’s windy today, and Dean watches the way the breeze tussles Cas’s hair, how it has the strands in front of his face dancing, and the sight puts a smile on his face. It’s mere seconds before Castiel feels Dean’s eyes on him, and he turns, tilting his head and regarding him curiously. Dean feels his face heat even in the morning chill, and he half-heartedly attempts to hide his smile, though he knows already that it’s a futile effort. He shrugs, trying again to act passably nonchalant, but that’s futile too. With one look Cas has rendered Dean utterly useless in a way that he’s never been before, and as much as that should terrify him, he, for once, is happy to play the fool. 

Charlie’s eyes dart back and forth between the two of them from where she stands by Cas’s side. She wears a grin that tells Dean she already knows what’s changed between them, and that she finds the entire situation infinitely entertaining. When she catches Dean’s eye, she winks at him so comically that he can’t help but laugh. Cas turns to face her too, and she smiles up at both of them. 

“Well,” She says, exaggerating the word playfully, “I have a lot of work to do, ya know, making sure everything's set up for the new research materials when they get here, and, uh…  organizing other stuff…? So I’ll leave you guys to it.” And it’s a valiant attempt, but she’s unable to bite back her grin. She begins to walk away raising her hand in a Vulcan salute like she always does. “Catch you later, bitches.”  Dean and Cas share a look as Charlie leaves, and they begin to return her farewell, but not before she looks back at them from several paces away. “I’m glad you two got your shit  together,” she calls over her shoulder.

Dean, taken aback at her bluntness, fumbles with his words for a moment while Cas–merely bemused, as if he was expecting nothing less–at least manages a “Bye, Charlie,” although the pitch of his voice still sounds amusingly adolescent compared to his normal baritone. 

Shaking his head as Charlie continues to walk away, Dean finally composes himself enough to say something, and he makes a concerted effort to force some normalcy into the tenor of his voice. “See ya later, kid.” 

The two of them stand there for a moment in abashed silence before Dean, burying his hands deep into his pockets, clears his throat and gestures in the direction of camp with a tilt of his head. “We should probably get going too.” Cas nods agreeably, and they begin to walk unhurriedly towards Dean’s cabin. As they pass by various people completing their morning tasks, Castiel looks over at Dean, and his brow is furrowed slightly.

“Are you sure you shouldn’t have left with everyone else today? I know we’ve already lost some time on this, and I don’t want to be the cause of any further delays.”

“Hey, whoa, whoa” Dean reaches out to him, his hand wrapping instinctively around Cas’s forearm. “You didn't cause anything like that. I mean, what happened with Lee, and driving out to find you–I hope you know none of that was a waste of time. Not at all. And if anything like that ever happened again…” Dean shakes his head, unsettled at that very thought, but he pushes on. “I’d do it the same way all over again in a heartbeat, Cas. You’re not at fault here. Not for anything.” Dean lets go of Cas’s arm and watches as he lets it fall to his side limply. He’s looking back at Dean, but there’s still a tangible concern in his eyes. 

Dean’s fingers twitch, itching to pull him into a hug, wishing he could kiss the doubt off of Castiel’s face without the weight of prying eyes on the two of them. Instead, he settles for a reassuring smile and a touch on Cas’s elbow. It’s featherlight and cautious, but he knows that Castiel can feel him there all the same. 

“I mean it Cas. I do. Besides, I’ve been going and going nonstop since, well… probably forever, honestly. More often than not I feel like I’m running on empty. But this… you slow me down, Castiel. And that's a kindness I didn’t think I’d ever know.”

Dean doesn’t have words for the way Cas looks at him when he says that. The best he can manage, he thinks to himself, is that if he had seen that look on anyone’s face before now, he’d have guessed that they’d just witnessed a miracle. 

Dean and Castiel amble onward in comfortable silence, crushing various and sundry forest debris beneath their feet, walking so close that their elbows bump together more often than not. Unseen in the trees surrounding them, birds sing with the sun’s arrival, and everything is new in a way that is nothing short of perfect.

\---

[ January 28, 2014. 17:23 ]

Castiel’s cabin is awash in the warm pink glow of the early setting sun, and Dean is all the more beautiful for it. He’s silhouetted against the window, map in hand, the back of his pen absently tapping against his lips, and Castiel doesn’t know how long he’s been staring–unless he can describe the passage of time through the number of freckles he’s managed to count scattered across Dean’s face. He’s made it to 196 by the time Dean looks up at him, the concentrated pinch of his brow melting away the moment their eyes meet. His lips settle into an easy smile, and he sets the pen down beside him onto the table he had been leaning on. For a beat, neither of them say anything, all caught up in the rosy evening and their halcyon heartbeats, and, tonight, time passes syrupy-slow in a way that feels almost transcendent. Castiel speaks first, his voice honeyed and warm.

“Did you settle on a route?”

Dean nods slowly, beckoned out of his reverie by the sound of Cas’s voice alone. He turns, setting the map onto the table, and he smoothes over the ridges of old folds so that it lays relatively flat. Unhurriedly, Castiel approaches.

“Yeah, I did. I was thinking–” Cas places a hand on Dean’s waist when he’s near enough, and settles close beside him, amusedly noting the way Dean stops short, eyes darting to meet his own, his smile growing wider so that the dimples in his cheeks make a rare reappearance. He turns back to the map, but he shifts so that he’s leaning into the touch. “I was thinking... if we take route 71 we can make a stop near Cincinnati and check out one of Rufus’s old storehouses before cutting down towards Verona. How does that sound?” Castiel nods, lazy with contentedness, and lets his eyes linger on Dean’s features before sliding his gaze downward to trace over the highlighted route on the paper next to them.

“Sounds like a plan.” He looks back up, and Dean looks more at peace than Castiel has seen him look in years. “When are we heading out?”

“0600 tomorrow morning should be alright.”

Cas hums his agreement and continues to study Dean’s face intently, all the hills and valleys of his features, the metamorphosis of the shadows cast as the light fades from the sky, the warm green of his eyes, the freckles dusted across his cheekbones. 197, 198, 199. The lull of an idle day has them both lethargic, and it occurs to Castiel as his gaze falls to the pink bow of Dean’s lips that, for once, they have almost at the time in the world. He leans in, not for the first time, and not for the last, and, in this liminal hour, neither of them care to count the passing minutes or the number of breaths they share. Castiel himself loses count of the freckles, but he doesn’t mind that he’ll have to start over some other time. For now, the two of them have no end and no beginning as far as they’re concerned, capturing the moment like lightning in a bottle and hoping to exist in it for centuries. Between breaths Dean says Castiel's name, and in the growing darkness, it sounds heartachingly familiar. It sounds like a prayer. 

Castiel holds onto that prayer, tucking it safely into the love-warmed chambers of his heart, and when they pull apart it isn't by much, still close enough that the tips of their noses touch. Out of the corner of his eye, Castiel sees a final sliver of light linger on his small leather journal before it fades into nothingness, and the thoughts he hasn’t dared yet to share are hidden once more in the shadows.

\---

_ Hello Dean, _

_ I know it feels like every time I write to you here it comes out as a dying wish, and, in retrospect, that does seem rather selfish. Selfish as it may be, though, knowing you, how heavy the weight on your shoulders already is, and how much more you bear when anything at all goes wrong... its too much for me to just ignore, especially if I won’t be there to help ease the burden that you carry anymore. So I’ll make one final request. If something happens, if something does go wrong with all this… please, just for once, put yourself first. That’s all I ask. _

_ And maybe you won’t see this. Maybe I’ll have a chance to tell you this in person–but a part of me knows I won’t be able to. I can’t quite place why, but something just feels wrong. Like there’s a bomb somewhere dark and hidden that I can hear ticking away, but just can’t seem to find. _

_ It’s gotten me thinking, though. Am I human, now? Human enough, at least, to make it to heaven? I know the angels would be less than thrilled if I returned, but in the end, it’s not really up to them, is it? And who knows, God has been on my side before, I think, so… here goes one last cosmic roll of the dice, I suppose.  _

_ Heaven as an angel wasn’t all that pleasant, especially after the end of the world had begun, but if I had to stay there as a human I don’t think that I’d mind it. It would give me the chance to see you again, which is all I can ask for, really. So, Dean Winchester, I hope we meet again in the end. Just as long as that’s not too soon.  _

_ Take care of yourself, Dean.  _

_ Yours, _

_ Castiel _

\---

[ January 28, 2014. 23:58 ]

Castiel wakes with a start, his brow drenched in sweat. It’s dark, oppressively so, and his heart pounds mercilessly inside him as if it’s trying desperately to escape the gilded cage of his ribs. He shoots up in his bed, jostling Dean from where his head was resting on Cas’s chest. 

Dean groans, his eyelids fluttering drowsily for a moment. Castiel can pinpoint the exact second his eyes adjust to the darkness, because they fly open wide as he takes in the sight of Castiel, chest heaving, sweat-soaked, and pale with fear even in the obscurity of nighttime. Castiel can not see himself, but he feels it acutely, the terror that grips his very being, emanating off him in waves and tremors and making his heartbeat quicken, frantic prey-like. He feels like he’s an inch away from being consumed.

“Dean,” he whispers, his voice coming out paper-thin and panicky, all of him drowned in a fear he’s never felt before. He’s breathless with it in the worst kind of way. “Dean, something’s wrong. Something is very, very wrong.”

\---


	6. PART VI

\---

DEAN: So? How is he? Is he–will he be–

MISSOURI: (sighs) That boy… he’s a hard one to read with that little bit of angel still in him and all, but… oh, honey I’m so sorry. I truly am.

DEAN: No. No, you’ve gotta be–maybe you’re wrong.

MISSOURI: Have I been before? 

_[ silence ]_

I know how much he means to you, and I know what you have to do.

DEAN: Missouri–

MISSOURI: And I also know what you’re gonna do anyway. I’d warn against it, but I know what you’d say to that too. You’ve always been a stubborn one, you won’t go changin’ now, will you? You’ve already made up your mind.

_[ silence ]_

Be careful, child. That’s all I’ll say. I’m sorry I can’t do more.

DEAN: I– It’s alright. Goodbye, Missouri. Thank you.

\---

[ January 29, 2014. 03:52 ]

Castiel looks an absolute wreck, sprawled out on the floor of his cabin facing skyward with his eyes glazed over as if he’s seeing visions in the greyed wood panels of the ceiling. The state he’s in, he just might be, little orange bottles scattered on the ground around him like leftover party favors. Dean’s by his side in an instant, pulling Castiel up until he’s sitting as close to upright as he can manage.

“Hey, hey, you’re okay. Come on.” Castiel laughs loudly at that, frightfully so, and god, what Dean wouldn’t do to see that smile grace his face for any reason but this.

“I’m not, uh, ‘okay’,” Cas replies, making loose air quotes with his fingers, his grin still miles wide as if, in some sick way, this is the most amusing thing in the world. “But you already know that.”

“Cas–”

“And I know it too. Hell, I’ve _known_ it. Something’s felt wrong since the minute I woke up in that building days ago. I just didn’t want to believe it. I just wanted to see you again. Fuck, I _needed_ to see you again, so badly I didn’t even care to think–,” Castiel sighs, scrubbing a hand over his face and casting his eyes downcast. He’s looking more and more jaded by the second. “I was so, so selfish, and look what that got us.”

“This isn’t on you, Cas. It’s not. Hey,” Dean stares down at him pointedly, willing Castiel to meet his eyes again. “Cas. Castiel. Look at me. We’ll find another way. We will. We have to.”

Cas only shakes his head, his expression turning stern and almost entirely lucid for the first time in hours. “Dean, there is no other way. You know that. It’s the croatoan virus. There’s nothing in the world that can cure something specifically engineered by Pestilence himself. It’s deadly, in every sense of the word so I’m sorry, but there’s no fixing me, there’s no saving me, Dean. Not from this.” 

“No,” Dean whispers, and even to himself it sounds utterly, irreparably broken.

“It’s okay, Dean. Tt’s alright,” Cas continues, in what he must know is a futile attempt to reassure him. “I got more time than most, probably used up the last of whatever speck of grace I might’ve had left, but we need to be realistic. It’s been days since this happened. Who knows how long I have left. I already feel it in me, changing me into something I don’t want to become. And if– _when_ –I lose control, if I ended up hurting you, I just…” he trails off, his expression saturated completely in sorrow and fear. “It’s over now, Dean. It has to be, but I’m alright with that because the extra time I was given, it meant I got to be with you. I got to say goodbye, and I didn’t think I’d get even that, let alone…” 

Cas’s expression softens. He brings his hand to Dean’s face, pulling him closer until their foreheads rest together. Dean aches to close his eyes to all this. To let it all disappear, but he can’t bring himself to. He forces his eyes open, holds Castiel’s gaze, and he tries to blink as sparingly as he can, because he doesn’t know how much longer he’ll be able to look into those eyes. How long it’ll be before they turn into something he can no longer recognize.

“Every moment with you, every memory, means more to me than anything I’ve experienced in all my very long life. I’ve seen galaxies, Dean. I’ve seen stars die. I’ve seen so much in my billions of years, Dean, things you can’t even comprehend, and yet all I can think of is you. You have made everything, all of this, worth it. Thank you.”

“Don’t–you can’t just say that like that makes this alright. You don’t even know how much I… I love you, Cas,” Dean pleads, “so you can’t just give up. You can’t. We have to fight this. You said we’d face this together, remember? You promised.”

“I love you too, Dean, and I’m sorry. But I also promised myself that I’d keep you safe.” With his free hand, Castiel reaches into the pocket of Dean’s jacket, the inside one on the lower right side, and he does it without hesitation because even like this, strung-out and sunken in, being eaten alive from the inside out by something evil, Cas knows Dean better than he knows himself. He pulls out the pistol Dean keeps hidden there, the one he’s had since before he’d grown into his own limbs, when his voice was still squeaky and he hadn’t yet had his heart broken. He laces Dean’s fingers and his own together and wraps their hands around the pistol, their laced up fingers on the trigger. 

Castiel presses his lips to Dean’s softly, and Dean leans in with all of himself, losing himself in the warmth of it, chasing after him when Castiel pulls away, eyes still heavy lidded and woundingly melancholy. Castiel takes a shuddering breath, steeling himself, and looking deeply into Dean's eyes once more as he raises their hands and the gun with them until it's pressed precisely over his heart. He smiles tenderly at Dean, drawing with the pad of his thumb one more circle over his freckled cheek, as if, by some miracle, that would make this all okay. 

“This is me, keeping my promise.” 

Dean can’t look anymore. He can barely breathe. With a leaden heart and the warmth of Castiel’s touch still on his hand, his cheek his forehead, Dean Winchester lets his eyes fall closed.

In the silence before daybreak, in the candlelit room walled in from the scrutiny of the stars, and between the shallow breaths of mourning lovers, there is no squeeze of the trigger. There is no mortal thunderclap, no stopping of hearts, no spilling of blood. Not yet, anyway. Dean's hand trembles as he disentangles his fingers from Castiel’s, forfeiting their joint grip on the pistol and tossing it aside hastily. Like it's suddenly become white-hot.

“I’m sorry, Cas,” Dean half-smiles, and it’s miserable and apologetic, but it’s the resignation in his tone that scares Castiel the most. “I’m gonna have to ask you to break your promise.”

“Dean,” pleads Castiel, his voice coming out hopelessly shattered, “whatever you’re thinking, just stop. Let me do this one last thing for you. Please.”

Dean takes both of Castiel’s hands in his, smoothing thumbs over knuckles absently as he gazes into Castiel's eyes with a resolve that is so frighteningly unshakeable he has no choice but to look away. He doesn’t see Dean take a trembling breath, but he hears it, he feels it crash over him, coming in waves and pulling him under. He hardly dares breathe himself, for fear that what little air he has left would be ripped from him, that he’d drown in Dean completely and give in without a thought. 

“You know me, probably better than anyone has my whole life. Better sometimes, than I even know myself. But still, you don’t seem to understand.” He eases open Castiel’s hands, balled up into fists, until he can lace their fingers together. Dean doesn’t seem to mind the way Cas’s palms are sweat-damp and sickly, nor does he mind the tremors that wrack Castiel’s whole being, that haven’t stopped since the moment he woke up. Instead Dean binds their hands together tighter, as if by force of will alone he could stop the shaking. “I can’t do this without you, Cas. Especially not now. And it’s not like before, because god knows how many battles I’ve lost in my lifetime. How many people I've had to say goodbye to. But this… I’m already broken, I know that. I have barely anything left to give up. Losing you, though, there wouldn’t even be any pieces left to pick up. Nothing but dust. So look at me, Cas. Really look, and tell me that I can live without you. Because, honestly, the way I'm feeling, I just–I know that I can't.” 

Castiel does look Dean in the eyes now, and he knows what he sees. He understands, but still, he has to fight it. To resist Dean’s recklessness tooth and nail, even though he has no illusions about where this situation is headed. 

“It's not just me here, Dean. What about the camp? The war? The devil? What happened to finding another way?”

Dean’s laughter is quiet and hollow, and he grimaces like it leaves a bitter taste in his mouth. “I was being naive, Cas. Let's face it–even without what’s happened to you, we could read every book, scour the planet until we punched our ticket, but chances are we’d still come up empty. If there really was another way, don't you think someone, somewhere, would’ve heard about it? That someone would’ve done something already? The colt was our only shot, literally, and I blew our chances on that too. There’s nothing else _I_ can do anyway, all I’ve done lately is make things worse.”

“No,” Cas whispers, voice shaky with desperation, or sickness, or some unholy combination of them both. “There’s always another way, Dean. You can't give that up for me. Just yesterday you were so–”

“Optimistic?” Dean smiles ruefully, shaking his head. “Hate to break it to ya, but that was all you, angel. Without you, I got none of that left. Nothing salvageable, at least.” 

And, just like that, Castiel shatters completely. Every last ounce of resolve he had, what little hope there was left to stop Dean from doing whatever awful thing he had in mind crumbles now into nothing. Dean has always been like this, an unstoppable force, a whirlwind of thrown caution, of steadfast affection, and of good intentions with more than a hint of self-destruction, and he had pulled Castiel in, enraptured him, and made him fall in every way imaginable. Dean is as he’s always been, only this time his dogged constancy is what breaks Castiel’s heart.

“There’s really no stopping you, is there?” Cas asks, hushed, so that maybe, just maybe, Dean won’t hear it. That he won’t have anything to agree to, but with the way Dean is looking at him, Castiel knows he’s out of luck.

“No,” Dean sighs, equally quiet. “No there isn’t.”

“But Dean,” Cas insists, unable to stop himself from trying one last time. “Just think about this. I can’t truly be worth this much. I can’t be.”

Dean hushes him, letting go of Cas’s hands in favor of reaching up to carefully cup his face. His features melt into unadulterated fondness as if Cas’s eyes aren’t red and half sunken-in, as if his complexion hasn’t gone anemic, waxy and greying as he sinks further towards the inevitable. Dean smiles at Castiel, and his smile is achingly real.

“You’re it for me, Cas, you understand? You’re everything. You have been for a long time. I mean, just look at me. I put the end of the world on hold for you. I prayed to you even when I knew you couldn’t hear it, and now, even while everything’s falling apart, I'm spilling my guts like some lovesick kid writing letters in a dollar store diary, and you know what? I don't even care, because it's _you_ . So I'll throw away ego, I'll throw away self-preservation, I'll throw away this whole damn war, because I am _not_ letting you go. Not alone.”

Dean’s smile doesn’t falter for a second, and his hands are warm against Cas’s clammy cheeks, so Castiel just kisses him, because, at this point, what more can be done?

\---

BENNY: Dean? Mic check. Can you hear me? Me and Harry just got back.

_[ silence ]_

Dean, man, are you there? Did you leave already?

\---

BENNY: Hey, Charlie. Are you on? I just got back. 

CHARLIE: Benny?

BENNY: Hey, Dean’s not picking up. Where's he at? Did he leave with Cas already, or–

CHARLIE: Benny, Benny they’re not leaving. 

BENNY: Fuck, what happened?

CHARLIE: It’s Cas, he–he has it, and Dean’s, not–I don’t know what he’s gonna do, but he’s not answering me either and I–

DEAN: I’m on. I’m here.

BENNY: Dean? Is it true? Is he–?

DEAN: He’s… Yeah. It’s true. But I’ll handle it. It’ll be okay.

CHARLIE: Will it? Will you? God, Dean… what are you going to _do_?

\---

JANUARY 29, 2014

CASTIEL HAS IT–THE CROATOAN VIRUS. IT MUST’VE HAPPENED WHILE HE WAS KNOCKED OUT AFTER #237, BUT HE DIDN’T START EXHIBITING SYMPTOMS UNTIL LATE LAST NIGHT, BEST GUESS AS TO WHY IS THAT HE’S NOT FULLY HUMAN.

I KNOW THE PROTOCOL ON THIS: EXECUTE POINT BLANK THE SECOND SYMPTOMS PRESENT THEMSELVES BUT FUCK PROTOCOL. THIS IS CAS. I COULDN’T DO THAT TO HIM, AND I COULDN'T WATCH SOMEONE ELSE DO THAT TO HIM EITHER. I’VE MADE UP MY MIND.

WE’RE MOVING OUT AT 06:00. BOBBY’S CLOSEST SAFEHOUSE HAS A FORTIFIED PANIC ROOM. WE’VE USED IT A FEW TIMES BEFORE. IT’S MADE TO KEEP THINGS OUT, BUT IT’S GOOD ENOUGH AT KEEPING THINGS IN, TOO.

THIS WILL BE MY LAST ENTRY.

\---

[ January 29, 2014. 05:52 ]

It’s not yet light out, but there is little time to spare. The news has spread and there’s a hush that’s fallen over the camp as if everyone has been shocked into silence. Dean doesn’t mind it, though. He’ll miss the familiar bustle of the base, sure, but right now he’s just grateful that most people respect them enough to keep a quiet distance.

They’re nearly ready to leave now, and Dean’s crossed off nearly every name on his mental checklist of friends to say goodbye to. Garth, Missouri, Jody–every name down the list makes this harder and harder. Still, his resolve hasn’t wavered. He may not survive this, but he wouldn’t survive the alternative either. 

The sky is a bruising purple as he helps Benny haul the last of the artillery out of the back of the truck. They won’t need it where they’re going. The few others who had stuck around to help unload now begin to take the remaining ammunition away to be stored in the supply cabin, bidding Dean dutiful but rather impersonal goodbyes. Dean detects more than a hint of resentment in their tones, and he’d be lying if he said he was unshaken by it, but he shoves his guilt aside for now. It’s still not enough to convince him to stay. So, instead of dwelling, he turns his attention to Castiel. He’s sitting alone on the gravel on the opposite side of the lot, eyes skyward and knees pulled in tightly to his chest. He had insisted on keeping his distance while everything was prepared, wary–and rightfully so–that the next moment may well be the moment he snaps and all hell breaks loose. Still, it sets a permanent crease in Dean’s brow that Cas is unable to even say proper goodbyes to the people he’s close to. Dean is startled from his contemplation by a hand on his shoulder. He turns to face Benny.

“I just thought we should do this now,” Benny starts, and the tenor of his voice has an edge of humor like it usually does, but this time it sounds painfully forced. “Just in case, ya know…” 

“Yeah. Yeah, you’re right.” Dean puts on a smile for him, making sure that it’s wide enough to crinkle the corners of his eyes, but even now he feels the weight of his guile tugging down his lips at the corners until his smile falls flat. Neither of them speaks for a moment, until, at last, Dean clears his throat and attempts a smile once again. “I know this was too much to ask,” he says finally, “and I’m so sorry for the weight I’ve put on your shoulders. I really am. I wish things could’ve gone down differently, but I just couldn’t let him–”

“I know,” Benny interjects, with something elusive shining from his red-rimmed eyes. “I get it.”

Dean nods, and his smile falters again. “If there’s anyone that can take over, though, it’s you. You’ve got this, Benny. You do. Hell, you probably have a better shot at winning this than I ever did.”

“I don’t know about that,” Benny chuckles quietly, his gaze falling downcast.

“Give yourself some credit,” Dean assures him, with a hand on his shoulder. Benny looks back up at him, his lips twisted into something that only barely resembles a smile. “You can win this, brother. I know you can. You’ve just gotta do it without me.”

“Sure thing, cher,” Benny replies, his expression morphing into something that teeters dangerously between mirth and misery. “I was always gunnin’ for your job anyway.”

Dean laughs at that, and he knows it’s a bald-faced lie, but, for the first time, his smile turns genuine. “I’m sure you were,” he grins, and he pulls Benny into a hug. His face only falls after they pull away, and after Benny’s back is turned as he moves to unlock the driver’s door of the truck. 

When Dean tears himself away, he’s met by Charlie, standing only a few paces from him. The look on her face breaks his heart. He walks toward her, and his arms are open before he even reaches her. They meet and Dean pulls her close, and when he feels her tears staining the fabric of his shirt, he almost breaks. Almost.

“I’m so sorry, kiddo. I’m so sorry,” he breathes, and she shakes her head where it rests against him. He knows how much this must be hurting her, and he can’t even consider how much he must be disappointing her, how it feels like he’s letting down another sibling all over again–so he just lets his mind wander elsewhere. He thinks of anything else as he kisses the top of her head and holds her there for as much time as they can spare. At least he gets a goodbye this time. He didn’t get one with Sam. Finally, aware of the ticking clock, Dean pulls away. “Take care of yourself, Charlie,” he says sincerely. “I love you.” 

Charlie sniffles and wipes her eyes with the back of her hand. “I know.” She manages a small smile that Dean knows is as much for her own sake as it is for his. Dean sees her gaze flick over to Cas’s hunched figure, and before he can say a word of warning against it she’s striding swiftly in his direction. Dean knows there’s no stopping her, and, quite honestly, he doesn’t want to, so he settles instead for following quickly in her wake.

The gravel crunches loudly beneath their feet, and it’s not long before Cas looks down and sees them. His eyes widen in alarm and he opens his mouth to call out something in warning, but before he can do anything of the sort, Charlie’s stride has picked up into a sprint and she rushes toward him, almost barreling him over with her embrace. 

“Charlie,” Cas mutters, his voice tight with panic. “Please let me go. I don’t want to hurt you.”

“You’ll hurt me if you don’t let me say goodbye,” Charlie insists. She pulls him closer, paying no mind to the rocks poking at her knees, or to the uncomfortable twist of her body because of the way Cas is sitting, until, finally, Cas gives in and hugs her back. He squeezes his eye shut, as if he’s trying, hopelessly, to will this whole situation away.

“Charlie, I’m so, so sorry. I wish I could–”

“This isn’t your fault, Cas. It’s not. It’s okay.”

Cas just shakes his head and Dean looks away, leaving them be and willing his own eyes dry. The three of them stay there, just like that, until the sound of the front door of the truck closing shakes them forcefully from their trance and shatters any illusions they may have had that this momentary peace could last. Charlie stands, pulling Cas up with her, and the three of them walk to the truck. It’s freezing cold, so they all have an excuse when one comments on how violently Castiel is shaking.

Charlie parts with a kiss on Castiel’s sallow cheek and a squeeze of Dean’s hand. “This isn’t your fault either, you know,” she whispers as she passes, but Dean doesn’t respond with anything more than a sad smile. He climbs into the cold metal back of the truck, pulling Castiel up after him, and they share a weary look as Benny pulls the opening closed and the lock clicks from outside.

The truck rumbles away from the camp, and, unbeknownst to Dean, a small, weather-worn journal lies abandoned on Castiel’s desk.

\---

BENNY: Hey, we’re here. Is he–?

DEAN: He’s still fine. Or, well… you know. As good as he’s gonna get.

BENNY: Alright. Okay. So… what now?

DEAN: Stick to the plan. I need you to come in, lock the door behind you and throw away the key, you understand? Keep a gun on us too, in case– (clears throat) 

And if you’re ever gonna come back here, wait a month, hell, a year if you can before you do. Understood?

BENNY: Yeah, chief, I–I got it. 

DEAN: Hey, benny… thank you. I’m so sorry to have to do this to you.

BENNY: I know you are, brother. I know.

\---

[ January 29, 2014. 16:37 ]

The wheel that locks the door from the outside spins, creaking so loudly that Dean and Castiel can hear it from where they sit on the opposite side of the room. It’s a desolate scene, cold metal walls reaching high up to an empty darkening sky, the few bookshelves and tables scattered throughout the circular room all barren now, save for just one small metal cart. 

It’s a pity Dean’s .45 doesn’t make for more pleasant decoration, but it’s not like he plans on using it, anyway.

Dean leans against the wall heavily. He glances at the bag beside him, full to the brim with water and provisions in case they need to wait this out, but from the looks of Castiel, there won’t be much longer to wait. Reclined against the wall beside Dean, he trembles even more furiously than before. His face is nearly colorless, his eyes and cheeks sunken deep, and Dean swears he’d look long dead already if not for the constant tremors, or for his wide-open eyes. God, his eyes. Dean looks intently into them for what must be the billionth time in these few short years, and he thinks that they’ll be the last part of Castiel to remain, blue as the day he blustered into that barn. It hurts something awful that his ending is like this instead, languishing in agony with a creeping evil inside of him instead of going out in a blaze of ground-shaking, lightning-strike glory like the way he began. 

Cas has been slipping in and out of clarity, and now, as Dean watches him, his gaze becomes focused once more, and just the feeling of Castiel’s unwavering attention on him is breathtaking.

“I should’ve listened to you, Dean,” he rasps, the once deep and steady rumble of his voice now feeble and shaky. “You were right all along. We didn't get a happy ending.”

“No. No, listen to me,” Dean hushes him, “You were right. You were. With our luck we were never gonna get a happy ending anyway, were we? But at least, this way… Cas, you’ve given more to me than you can ever know. Even now.”

Castiel laughs hollowly. “Or maybe I’ve just ruined you.”

“If the way I feel now is me in ruins, then I understand why empires fall.”

“Dean–”

“And I’ve fallen already Cas, full tilt, head over heels, heart on my sleeve in love with you. I have been for longer than I care to admit, but the only reason I can say it out loud now is because you weren’t afraid.”

Cas’s eyes fall shut, and he lets out a shuddering breath. “But Dean,” he whispers, I’m afraid now.”

“That’s okay,” Dean murmurs, taking one of Cas’s hands into his. “I’ve got you.”

“You shouldn’t have to when this is my fault,” Cas counters, nearly breathless with anguish. “I’m killing you, Dean. I love you so much it hurts, and I’m letting myself be the death of you. I’m the cause of all of this and I haven’t even had the chance to tell you how much you mean to me. Dean, I–”

“It’s okay, Cas. It is. The things you’ve done for me… I already know. You told me this before, Castiel, and it goes both ways. This isn't your fault, but even if it was, you’d already be forgiven. You saved me. You did. From hellfire, from death and danger over, and over, and over again. You saved me from being alone. So if I can return the favor, if I can stay with you now, then I'm glad to do it. I owe you that much and more.”

The corners of Castiel’s lips upturn into a smile so tender and heartbreaking Dean feels like he could weep. He won’t though. Not yet. He knows he needs to be strong now, because Cas shouldn’t have to watch him fall apart. 

In his last moments of lucidity, Castiel lays a hand on Dean’s shoulder, fitting the pads of his fingers perfectly onto the raised bumps of the years-old scar where he had held Dean for the very first time. His hand moves upwards then, more steady than it’s been in hours, to cradle Dean’s cheek as tenderly as he can. Dean leans into the contact and he knows, without a shred of doubt, that he could not live without it, not now that he’s had it. It’s an awful, gnawing, unholy feeling to be loved like this and to know that it can not last, no matter what they might try. Dean is sick with it now, though, and he can't go back. Not ever. Their story ends like this, like a tragedy, the two of them victims of hubris and fate and circumstance, but it’s okay, Dean thinks. So be it. At least they’re closing the book together.

From his jacket pocket, Dean pulls out a beaten-up cassette player that hasn’t seen the light of day in years. The tape he wants is already inside so he shares the headphone set between them, its red cord tying them together inseparably like they’re fated for this. He leans his head against Cas’s shoulder and presses play, absently tapping his fingers onto the rough denim of Cas’s blue jeans, letting them dance to the beat of ‘What Is And What Should Never Be’. 

There is not a deer in sight this time, no low hum of road music, but still, in the darkness outside, it begins to snow.

\---

_Hello Dean,_

_If this is the last that you hear from me, I need you to understand this: it’s okay if you can’t save me. If you don’t find me before it’s too late._

_I know that I sound like a broken record at this point, and I also know that you probably won’t believe me, that you’ll blame yourself like you always do, but please, please, don’t blame yourself for this. You carry the weight of the world on your shoulders, and not a moment passes that I don’t admire your strength for that, but I also know that your sense of responsibility blinds you. You are not at fault for every bad thing that happens, Dean. You just aren’t._

_And besides all that, you don’t owe me anything. You’ve already saved me, Dean. You have to know that, don’t you?_

_I don’t mean all the times that you’ve been by my side in battle–although I’m eternally grateful for that as well. But you saved me just by being steadfastly yourself. You saved me when you helped me realize that I had the power to make my own choices, and to stand for what is right and good. You saved me in so many ways, so how could I ask anything more of you?_

_You’re a good man, Dean Winchester. The best man I have ever known, and I have existed since long before the first man ever even walked the earth. That has to count for something, right?_

_If this is my final chance to tell you, and if you take nothing else away from this letter, know that, with all that I am, I love you. Even if this ends bloody, knowing you has made every single second worth it._

_Yours,_

_Castiel_

\---

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you’ve enjoyed this! Again, I’d really like to thank everyone who supported this while I was writing it originally, especially Kate, Maggie, and Nikki. I wouldn’t have stuck with this without your encouragement! Comments and kudos are always appreciated <3
> 
> You can find me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/MlSHJEN), [curiouscat](https://curiouscat.qa/jackskllne), and [tumblr](https://jackskllne.tumblr.com).

**Author's Note:**

> Comments and kudos are always appreciated <3  
> [twitter](https://twitter.com/CASTlELL)  
> [curiouscat](https://curiouscat.qa/GAYCASTIEL)  
> [tumblr](https://castlell.tumblr.com)


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